"Look, Liechardt! Look!" cried big George Conwell, "there is something like a mountain floating in that distant mirage. Buck up, man, keep your legs for a few miles; there's water there! Cheer up! Hang on for a few more hours, and we are through."
But the explorer was down, in the terrible test of endurance which left in its wake dying horses, perishing goats, dead cattle, and the dray which had long been abandoned in the great spinifex desert. As the horses dropped from sheer exhaustion and thirst, so did the men one by one. The blackmen looked on in wonder, too mystified to understand who were these white-skinned strangers who rode on four-legged monsters and penetrated into their territory, utterly ignorant of its terrible void and scarcity of water. True, the blacks had not attacked the party, and the whites had not shot a savage. The blackmen knew the desert and its awful waterless grip. Far north the party had crossed Lake Amadeus on their outward trip, and on and on they pushed till the last drop of water was done. Then the goats died, and the party turned around to the south and struck out back. Perishing and dying one by one, until only Liechardt and big George Conwell were left trudging slowly hack to the Hugh River.
Taking one last look at his fallen leader, George Conwell turned east and looked at the great whale-backed mass of granite floating on the distant plain. Already the stupefaction of death was upon him, and he knew it would be but a short while before his senses would leave him, and then the last of the Liechardt expedition would be gone.
"About 10 miles," he muttered, "and I am done." He threw up his hands in anguish. Rain. No, not a drop, only sun—only blazing sun rays and hot sand, dry spinifex, and a few scattered mulgas. "Death," he cried, "why has my stamina been so prolonged?" Then he saw something moving on a sand hill only a few hundred yards away, and he cried to it to help him. The cry reached the ears of the dark-skinned object in front of the dying man, and with all the sympathy of the feminine sex she came in careful circles to the thirst-stricken and exhausted white man's aid. Long, black, shiny arms encircled the helpless explorer, and a crooning, soothing voice cheered him. The powerful black arms gave help as the woman of the spinifex desert led to the water hole.
COOL. CLEAR WATER.
When George Conwell came to his senses he was sitting beneath a mountain of massed granite close to a small pool of clear water, which trickled down the side of the rock. Looking upwards, he saw that the small, thin stream came over the bevel of the rock from some colossal hollow on the great rock's top. George at once calculated that the receptacle was filled by monsoon downpours, or when ever the mass of granite was curtained by a deluge of torrential rain. The over filled basins on the top of the rock then fed the thin stream, which flowed down a well-worn watercourse leading to the desert below. George figured out that, sooner or later, the supply on top would reach the level of the small apertures through which it flowed, and then the supply would automatically stop. He had only keen rescued a few hours from death when his brain was devising a scheme to control the slowly dwindling water supply. While thus engaged in deep soliloquy there came the tribe who had watched the crash of Liechardt's great hope. Poising their spears, they demanded to know why one of their tribe should help the stranger. For a long space she stood shielding the helpless white man with her graceful black body against the maddened passions of savages, whose lust for blood was bestirred by the black girl's sympathy to help the downcast white man. Who was this intruder, trying to cross their desert which had lain them dead in attempting such an audacious enterprise? This white-skinned survivor had, by his magic, enchanted one of their princesses, bewitched her, and enlisted her help, kindness, and drinking from the great granite fountain of life when his vile body should be lying rotting out there where his comrades had lain. Kill him, spare him not. White and clothed, insulting their great desert by trying to cross it and invoking the love of one of their beauties, drinking the clear water of heaven, not polluted by man's hand or looked on by man's eye. They fixed their spears in slim woomeras and cried "Kill." It was then that the princess arose to the occasion. "Stop!" she cried, "and lie down your weapons. This white man has not come to us of his own will. No. He has been sent here to help us. Look!" she cried, “look at his forehead and compare it with yours. He has a straight white forehead. Yours is slanting like the great rock top. He has been sent to us by the Mooras to define how the water supply of the great rock can be controlled, so that the clear stream of life will flow whenever black fellows need it." This, answer, power fully made, sufficed the tribe, and they lowered their spears and called "Peace." The king stepped forward, and. taking a Toola (stone knife), cut the white man twice across the chest, then with silky fingers he pressed open the line of the wounds. George Conwell was initiated to the Wonga Pitcheri tribe as a guest and helper.No sooner had George recovered from the debauch of his exploring experience than he began to work hard on a life saving problem. Firstly, he had to climb the rock about 1,100 ft. and explore the cavities in which the water was contained, and this was not easy. The face of the rock was almost perpendicular, and for the first 300 ft. shredded by aelion erosions, and at one time washed by tides of inland seas, the great mass of granite rising out of the desert was three-quarters of a mile wide and about 1,100 ft. high. George soon learned, to his surprise, that the great rock had never been scaled by the blacks. It was held sacred by them Sad hailed as a mighty lifesaver. There was a legend and motto scrolled on the rock's face. It meant, when deciphered, that, he or she who shall firstly climb the Boomaroo (Ayers Bock) and plant a smoke there "will be not only king of the rock and its clear water recesses, but he shall also be monarch and overlord of the whole Wonga Pitcheri regime. There was no doubt savages among the powerful-built Wonga Pitcheri tribe, who were able to scale the great granite boulders and eliminate its great water reservoirs, but none dared even to attempt such a climb. At intervals the rock gave off a loud report, and these reports were regarded by the superstitious natives as diprotodon calls. They believed that one of the last of these hated and colossal monsters had taken refuge in the big dams on the rock's top, and he called from time to time to his long dead friends to reappear on the earth. The blackfellow who should first climb the rock and look at the diprotodon would at once be overcome by the magic powers of that terrible monster, and thereafter be called upon to do his biddings, whatever they might be. But, who shall plant a smoke on the rock's top shall in doing so cause the diprotodon's powers to evaporate out into space in the smoke. George Conwell, as soon as he became acquainted with the tribe and their curious and strange characteristics, commenced the hazardous task of climbing Ayers Rock to investigate its water conservation. In his whole work he was helped faithfully and untiringly by his aboriginal wife, she who had saved his life was now his friend, wife, and sincere helper. George soon found means to aid him in the work of climbing. He had grass ropes plaited and poles arranged. One bright day, when the small stream glittering down the rock's side clearly showed signs of deterioration, he, with the whole tribe as onlookers, climbed straight up the poles, and then, by taking hold of the prills and beads worn on the rock's surface, he was able to climb with ease. Up and still up he crawled from crevice to crack and still on. At last he passed from sight over the bevel of the great rock and was lost to the onlookers. George Conwell soon found himself sitting beside a moderately large pool of clear water; so clear was the pool that the rough, uneven bottom could be plainly seen, and shoals of fish moved slowly and darkly to and fro. George commenced to carefully examine the aperture through which the water passed to flow down tire rock's side In doing so he found that the small hole through which the water oozed was on the top water line of the pool's surface, and that the stream flowed from somewhere still higher up. This proved correct, for a closer examination showed that the water came from a greater storage and passed through a pipe hole of only about three inches in diameter. This strange passage was connected by a perforation of small holes to the mighty big dam that held millions of gallons and covered two-thirds of the rock's top. The water was swarming with fish, and on its surface wild ducks, pelicans, and shags swam backwards and forwards at leisure. George soon remedied the loss of flow by plugging some of the perforations with clay, and thus only allowing a very small stream to trickle down the rock's side. He then returned to his wife, who assured the tribe that a plentiful supply of water would be ever at hand so long as the life of George Conwell was respected and cared for. The grateful tribe thereupon made him king of the great rock and controller of its great unknown water supply. George wisely kept the true secret of his discoveries to himself. He was too shrewd to make smoke on the rock's top. Least the tribe should straightway believe the diprotodon to be vanished and swarm up. He held the innocent natives in the power of their own beliefs, and led them to believe that something always watched them from the very rock's top, to which he was not allowed to reach. He explained that he had partially taken the power from this monster and made peace with it, but the terrible animal only respected a white man's skin, and detested a black one. Thus for year after year George Conwell supplied water to the tribe and secretly drew fish and game from the great supply to feed himself and his wife and child, a beautiful fair haired mixture of Anglo-Saxon and Australian desert aboriginal. This wonder child, beloved by the tribe, soon became as agile as a monkey. Keen eyed as the eagle, graceful as a goddess, kind, thoughtful, considerate, and utterly fearless of the supernatural that so affected the tribe from which she partly sprang.
THE EXPLORER'S DAUGHTER II.
The king of the tribe sat in a clear piece of ground not far from the great rock, and around him sat warriors, chiefs, kings, and princes, princess, and many more dignitaries of three great tribes. The Wonga Picheri, the Coola Walla, and the Perri Perrina. Right in their very midst sat Mymyoo the daughter of the King of the Great Water Rock. He, too, was there browned by winds and sun, and devoid of clothes with an Abo fashioned beard. He was much like one of the tribe to whom he owed his life. It was Mymyoo that attracted the attention of the guests. She, with the blue eyes and fair, white skin, and straight forehead. The interests of one king seemed to be bestowed upon her alone, and she, the wonder woman, now 18 years old, realized that her presence among such men was dangerous. Over and over again she had been sought and openly made love to, but she had rejected all. She was more white than black, and in her dreams she saw another white man come and carry her off to a life she knew nothing of, but longed for. It was the white blood of her fine bred father calling for its own and loathing that into which fate had plunged it. At last the camp fires burned low and the royal gathering arose to depart. It was then that Wongau, the great powerful king of the Perri Perrina tribe arose, and in his overbearing manner picked up a cold fire stick and pressing it to his chest handed it to Mymyoo. The girl knew at once the meaning of this sign, and once she put hands on the cold fire stick, she was engaged, and death was the penalty and the only one to dissolve it. She promptly packed up a small Kirri, and with terrific force felled the monarch. Pandemonium might have resulted, but the girl was in the right, and the tribe knew it. She had not firstly been courted, or even asked if she loved this man, so she had the right to refuse him even though it was done in savage fashion. The King Wongau arose surly and dour. He had met a rebuff in an unexpected quarter. Soon the whole tribes were separated, and were whispering in suspicious groups. Such happenings as a king being rejected, even by the most beautiful girl of the tribe, was, as rare as the desert midnight suns. Mymyoo soon sensed trouble, and her quick wit prompted direct action. She carefully and silently climbed the Great Rock from pitch to cranny. She knew the way. Every inch she had often explored with her father, and made fresh discoveries. She now made her way carefully to a large cave or inwash, and there she felt until her hands came in contact with something soft, it was clay, and blocked a small horn through which the wind howled like a siren. She quickly drew out the plug and the air rushed through soon increasing to a piping sound, which grew rapidly to a loud screeching howling roar penetrating far over the great plain. Mymyoo sat for some minutes and then replugged the hole and climbed slowly down to the base of the rock. There sat her father and mother quiet; composedly, but the tribes were gone. The sound was more than they could bear, and they made off at a quick run. In the morning the Wonga Pitcheri tribe would return, but the other two had gone perhaps for a year or so. Mymyoo had saved what might have been a serious affair by her quick actions. Still the ingenious and crafty Wongau was not to be stalled off by fear. He was stricken to the heart by a dart from Cupid’s bow, and in his surly thoughts, he devised a plan to secure her. Mymyoo foresaw, and her quick intuition suspected some trickery. She acquainted her parents of her fears and advised them to keep high on the rock in a monster shelf Mymyoo had found, and on which she could place the whole tribe if danger were at hand. George Conwall knew his clever and fearless daughter, but he regarded her advice cheaply, and to his surprise, a few days later he was captured in the dead of the night and carried off to the Perri Prinna tribe and held as ransom, the price of his release being the beautiful Mymyoo. Here, however, George Conwell showed his true self, and refused to negotiate in the matter. He promptly felled King Wongau with a heavy blow, and a few hours later George Conwall's body lay lifeless on the desert filled with spears. The poisoned blood covered the barbed points of the spears and they were to be used as weapons against the Wonga Pitcheri tribe, unless they handed over without parley, one, Mymyoo to became the wife of Wongau, king and ruler of the Perri Perina tribe.
THE TRIBAL WAR.
Wongau gathered some 60 fine warriors, and arming them with good spears, shields, and woomas, lead them swiftly over the desert. Silently and without warning they covered the 60 miles of waterless wastes between their own main watering place and the Great Rock. The battle was to be quick and decisive. The Wonga Pitcheri tribe must be overcome quickly and the prize carried off at once, else the enterprise was foredoomed to failure. To surprise the Wonga Pitcheri men was most essential and then throw them into disorder, and while chaos reigned to carry off the beautiful Mymyoo. There was one weak link in Wongau's chain, and that was water. The tribe must have water, to drink before they restarted back for home if the raid were successful, and the only water trickled down the thin stream, which was handled by Mymyoo herself. She now filled her father's place and controlled the Great Desert Fountain. She was the very life of her tribe, although she spent little time among them. She spent most of her time on the Great Rock looking eastwards as if someone she was expecting was sure to come from that direction. On the night before Wongau's surprise attack was to be delivered, Mymyoo sat gazing away to the eastward. Suddenly she saw something. It was but a thin web of smoke curling upwards. "Deliverance” she cried. "He comes at last. It is no fire made by blacks, it is a white man’s fire. She bad often seen her father fire smokes. As she sat in strange reverie with wave after wave of emotion swiping through her very being, she automatically turned her head and, looking westward, she spotted some dark objects creeping, creeping, and crawling as they came towards the rock. They were still some miles off but Mymyoo knew that the objects were warriors, armed to kill, to capture her. Mymyoo knew her father was dead. If not, why was Wongau attacking in force? He had destroyed the means of a peaceful settlement of this love affair, and force was the only way out of it. He desired the girl as little as she approved of him, and made a vow to blacken her fair skin, with boomerangs, blows for her thoughtless blindness, which had brought about the whole escapade. Mymyoo climbed down from her high lookout and called together her Wonga Pitcheri tribe and fully explained all she saw and knew. "Trust yourselves to me," she told them. "I have a plan, and from it a great achievement, shall be born." The tribe kneeled down on the sands and the half-white girl spoke. "One moon hence will be the white man's Christmas. On that day, all the blackfellows shall gather from all the tribes and a friendly kindly spirit will pervade this fine gathering. It is for me, the daughter of a white man, that you shall hold this great festival on this wonderful day, because I have been directed to help you. I shall destroy this monster, who lives on the rock's top. He will fade away in big smoke, then the Clapoos (gods) will give me power to send down to you a great surprise and a great feast. Firstly you will do exactly as I bid you. Before tomorrow morning the Perri Perrina warriors will charge. Have no fear of them, I have prepared plans to meet this attack and when it is over peace will reign once more. There will be no blood shed, but the death bone may be used if my father is not accounted for. Now,” said Mymyoo, "you will climb the rock up to a short distance and make no noise, lest you wake the sleeping monster. Keep strict silence and trust to me." By the light of a blazing fire a long string of climbing blacks could be seen scaling to about 300 feet of the old rock. They were placed carefully in the rock cave or shelf and ordered to keep quiet. Mymyoo now with wonderful alertness climbed to the small outer basin and following the stream upwards she plugged the small holes through which the water passed and in a few minutes the stream was dry. Then she climbed down to her tribe and saw to their arms. Soon the attackers appeared and straight towards the deserted camp they charged, chanting, crying, growling and screeching. The noise soon subsided to murmurs, and then quietness reigned around the abandoned camp. The savages surged, but their enemy had gone. Where? Soon the warriors, armed with firesticks, started circling to find tracks. Yabbering and running, they came to the rock. Ah, gone up the rock, protected by the Moora. Then they threw down their spears and looked askance at Wongau. No victory. No prisoners. No spoils of war, and lastly, no beautiful Mymyoo to carry home. Then, to crown the whole disaster, there was no water to drink, and the warriors were perishing. Carefully Wongau scanned the rock, and as he did so there came a sound, mournful and disconsolate. Mymyoo's fingers had once more pulled the clay plug from the air aperture, and the screeching, moaning sound horrified the Warriors below. These men, now outwitted and perishing, were ready to wreak their vengeance upon Wongau for not only leading them on a wild goose chase, but for interfering with this beautiful quiet girl whom the Mooras had sent to help blackfellows and not slay them. The killing of the white man was regarded by them as a cruel act, and one for which the Mooras might extract a terrible vengeance. The Perri Perina men now surrounded King Wongau, and denounced him as a murderer and one who might interfere with the work of God and call down the unmerciful powers of the great rock Mooras. Wongau, with his back to the rock, stood facing the very men he had led there. He was no coward, still he knew that death was at hand. He had earned it, and was prepared to pay the price. Then Mymyoo spoke. "Commit no murder," came her sweet, musical voice from somewhere close out of the darkness; the warriors stood awed and paralysed. In a few seconds the explorer's daughter stood in their midst. “Who is it you seek, men of the Perri Perina tribe?" was her quiet question. "We have come for you,” quickly replied Wongau. "Oh!" replied Mymyoo. "To be the wife of Wongau, the king who carried off my father. Look!" she cried, "you are at my mercy. I am the queen of the great water supply, and you shall perish and die if the truth about my father is not told to me." Wongau sank back crestfallen. "My father is dead then?” cried Mymyoo. “I know it you are his murderer. Men of the Perri Perina tribe, you have been misled and taken in. I will give you water and allow you to return safely home if, you firstly hand to me your King Wongau, bound hand and foot, to suffer punishment for killing my father." Dawn the next morning saw the tribes watering and fraternising without a thought of war or the unholy prizes wrestled from bloodshed. Then, as the Perri Perina warriors prepared to leave, Mymyoo reappeared and spoke. "One moon more, and all blackfellows are requested to appear at this great rock", for on the night of the big moon a splendid feast shall be spread, and while it is being eaten a great smoke will carry off the diprotodon for ever, and King Wongau will be made as if stone to guard off evil spirits. This will be the punishment he richly deserves for killing my father. The white explorer, who eliminated the great rock, and saved its waters. There will appear another white man, mounted on bullmuggies. He will not harm you, but after the feast I am to be his bride. When we are married, and you have corroboreed and sang us your well wishes, we are going to leave the rock for ever; but you shall climb it if you so please. There will be no evil spirit, and your water will not be tarnished. Now, warriors, go, and return when the moon is full." Mymyoo filled a water skin and struck out across the desert towards the smoke she had seen the night before. She was swift of foot, and sped along quickly. Fifteen miles slipped by and she climbed a small knoll and took her bearings. Soon she spied some camels standing languidly around a desert oak tree, and on nearing the exhausted party she could see two white men, one lying full length on the ground, and the other sitting dejectedly on a case. Soon the girl, was up to the dying outfit. The older man was dead, but the younger, although fast sinking looked up in terror at the half-caste girl. "Who are you?" he faltered? "I am Mymyoo, daughter of George Conwell,” she replied in good English. "I have, come to save you, I knew you were coming," she consoled him. "I have been looking for you now these months. It is near Christmas, and I need you at Christmas time." "I don't understand," the young man answered weakly. "Go away, you are one of those awful visions that appears to torture the dying. Take your skin of water and go." Mymyoo laughed, and then she splashed the cold water over his head and body, allowing him a little to drink. Harry Hanthorpe was soon brighter, and by sundown, mounted on his camel, was nearing Ayers Rock. Mymyoo was not long in nursing her new friend hack to his natural self. A tall, hard, handsome explorer of the early day type, and one of those youthful enthusiastics, determined to do or die in the land of the Never-Never. He had come out with an expedition to find the lost Liechardt Expedition, and in doing so, four human lives and 20 camels had been sacrificed. The escapade had been no more his fault than had Liechardt’s failure been really blameable to that dead hero. It was just the old story of sticking it longer than prudence demanded, and gradually dying to the last man.
CONCLUSION.
It was Christmas Day, and Mymyoo had been a busy girl. She had prepared a great surprise for her own tribe and also for those who cared to attend. Among the stores that remained on the three surviving camels, there was found some dynamite and quantities of black powder, fuses, and detonators. These, Harry and Mymyoo decided to use in the last surprise on the natives. King Wongau was released and ordered to climb the rock. This he did reluctantly, but without demure. Once on top he watched the lovers prepare the mines. Mymyoo had discovered a cave which led to within a foot of the main reservoir, only one foot of solid rock had to be blown away, and then half the great rock's supply of water would be loosened, carrying down with it thousands of fish. There would still be millions of gallons of water in the great basins, and by blowing this hole through, the rock it would enable the natives to fish with ease and comfort. Mymyoo placed the dynamite in position and set the mine. She then climbed to the rock's top and heaped up powder, drawing a long train down over the rock for some distance. Next, with Harry's aid, she moved a large stone dark, and somewhat shaped like a blackfellow, close to the edge of the highest table, and to this she bound King Wongau hand and foot. At last the plans were ready, and Mymyoo spoke to King Wongau. "As the moon arises the voice of the rock gods will speak. The rock will shiver and quake, if you are innocent of killing my father you will still live, but if you are guilty, you will die." She turned away from the helpless king, and made her way to the base of the rock. Joining her fiancé they were greeted by every warrior, lubra, and pickaninny of the three tribes who laid down to do her homage. As soon as they arose and chanted, she disappeared up the rock and out of sight. The moon had just risen, and shed its clear rays over the great, mysterious Ayer's Rock. Soon there came the smell of burning fuse. Then a muffled roar. The tribe surged close to the rock for another roar greeted their ears. It was water, rushing, dancing water, and shining fish being dashed down the rock’s side. Ah! Here is the feast. The natives commenced gathering in the fish, big and small, and kindling fires. The Whiteman’s Christmas was being celebrated in rollicking fun, chanting, singing, laughing, and screaming. The innocent savages spent hour after hour until their appetites were appeased, and sleep commenced to take the place of exuberance. Then they appeared, Harry Hanthorpe and his bride elect. The blacks cleared a large spot, and made a fire with great pomp and some queer ceremonies the young explorer was married to the beautiful daughter of another explorer of 20 years before. Mymyoo called then to the tribes to stand, and in an instant, she was gone. Up the rock for the last time she sprang right up to the top. Just as she was about to light the powder train, she saw Wongau looking imploringly at her and she melted beneath the pitiful gaze. She arose and cut him free. "You are broken, your powers are gone. Go and join them you have paid." He climbed slowly down and dropped the last few feet, and sat wistfully gazing at his despising warriors. The whole tribe rose and cried, "Moora no more devil." There was a long flash of fire, followed by a gigantic flash and boom. White smoke rolled upwards, the Diprotodon was gone, and the rock clear, to be scaled by any of the warriors.Morning came at last, and Mymyoo looked back as the sun rose over the desert. She was mounted on a camel's back, and with her husband, she was bound for a new life. Far behind her she could see the great rock floating in a watery mirage, her birthplace, her home, the tribes she had loved and the great feast she had caused on the evening of her real love and marriage, as the big moon rose on Christmas Day.
The End.
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