"Oh!" said the guide, "he is a beautiful old man. Bea-utiful!"

Now there were two families named Thompson, one white and the other black; the family old Jack took them to was the black; but judge of the amus.e.m.e.nt of Frank's friends when old Jack, standing stick in hand on the right of the group, introduced them to the Thompsons at home. Of course Chisholm, on the spot, demanded an introduction to Frank's prettiest cousin, who was nursing a pickaninny [a baby], and Fred must go up and shake hands with the old man and call him uncle, and Lyell, not to be outdone in politeness, squatted down beside the old "jin," his wife, and got into conversation right pleasantly. Poor Frank hardly knew what to do, but when Jack said the old couple liked grogs, he sent for some, and Jack shared it with the Thompsons, and there was such laughing and merriment, and talking and fun, that it isn't any wonder that after they had left, Lyell laughingly declared he never remembered spending such a pleasant time in his life.

Frank found the right Thompsons next day, and nicer nor braver boys never lived.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

THE COROBORY--NATIVE ARMS--QUIET LIFE IN THE AUSTRALIAN BUSH--CHISHOLM AND EROS--A DAY WITH THE KANGAROO HOUNDS.

A corobory is a war dance by native savages. Our heroes had the pleasure of gazing at more than one, before they finally left Australia in search of new adventures. But very terrible those savages look, dancing madly round the fire in the depths of the gloomy forest, and wildly brandishing their war weapons, their boomerangs, their woomeras, their waddies, and their spears, while the flickering flames light up their naked painted bodies, and their yells and cries re-echo through the woods.

Very expert are these New Hollanders with the use of the few weapons they carry. They can hurl their spears with terrible effect for a hundred yards or more, with the a.s.sistance of the woomera, a piece of wood which is retained in the hand, and acts as a lever. The boomerang is apparently a magical instrument. Its actions, when thrown by the hand of a native, are marvellous; the thing does his bidding as if it were one of the fabled genii under the control of a magician.

The uncle and cousins of Frank were right glad to see him and his friends. They did not know how kind to be to them.

"You see," said Mr Thompson, "you find us all in the rough."

"But I'll be bound all in the right as well," said Lyell.

"Well, well, well," he said to Frank, "who would have thought of seeing you out here, and do you know, my boy, I would hardly have known you, you are wonderfully changed."

"Well," replied Frank, laughing heartily at his uncle's pleasantry, "seeing that I was only a year and a half old when you left England, you cannot wonder there is a little change."

"How do you like your welcome?" Frank asked of Chisholm on the morning of the second day.

"It's a Highland welcome, Frank; a Highland welcome."

Chisholm thought he could not say more than that.

Old Mr Thompson was greatly amused at the mistake of Jack, the native guide, and their adventure with the other Thompsons, but he added he really believed Jack had done it on purpose, for the humour of the Australian native is of a very strange order, but none the less genuine for all that.

The house where our heroes now found themselves billeted was somewhat after the bungalow stamp--a widely-spread comfortable house, all on one flat, but it was altogether pleasant to live in. The gardens around it formed one of its princ.i.p.al charms; so cool they were, so green, so shady and scented.

Frank and Lyell and Fred went everywhere about the great farm; a farm so big, so wide, and wild, that it not only took days and days to ride across; but when they went out of a morning, with their horses and kangaroo hounds, they never knew what might turn up before they returned. It might be a warragh hunt [the wild dog of the interior], or a scamper after the emu or kangaroo, or they might settle down to hours and hours of quiet fishing, or try to shoot the _ornithorynchus paradoxus_. Then there were wild-fowl in abundance, quails and snipe and pigeons, and all were just tame enough to afford what might be called decent sport.

I have not mentioned Chisholm as taking much part in these sporting adventures, and must I tell you why? "Well, he was very fond of a game of whist, and also of smoking under the honeysuckles and the green mimosa trees; and Frank's uncle was such a genuine old fellow, and Frank's aunt such a delightful, and kindly, thoroughly English lady.

Oh! but I feel that I am only beating about the bush, so I must confess the truth at once, though for Chisholm's sake I'd rather have concealed it. One of Frank's cousins there was a young and charming girl; and-- and--and Chisholm had fallen over head and ears in love. It is with much reluctance I tell it; and it is strange, too, that one by one my heroes, my mighty hunters, whose hearts, like their sinewy arms, ought to have been hearts of oak or steel, should fall into the power of the saucy little G.o.d Eros. But it is the truth, and there is no getting away from it. As soon, however, as Chisholm knew and felt he was conquered at last, he confessed the same to his companions.

"But I'm not going to make any engagement, you know," he added. "I've never been in love before, so I don't know much about it; but if I'm not cured by the time we get back to old England, why then I'll return to this lovely place just to see if Edith will know me again."

Sly Chisholm! He felt sure that he would not be forgotten.

Many, many miles from the farm where lived the Thompsons, on a certain day there was to be a grand meet, and thitherwards went our heroes with Frank's cousins, starting on the day before. What a difference, they thought, from an English meet, where after an early breakfast one can mount his horse and ride leisurely away, along well-paved roads and green lanes to the appointed rendezvous, and after a scamper of hours return to a comfortable dinner. Here there were no roads; their way lay across the plains, through the deep dark forest, over lofty mountains, and through rivers; and it was very late ere they arrived at their camping-ground. Then their saddles were their pillows, a blanket the bed, and the star-spangled dome of heaven their roof-tree.

But they were none the less fresh next morning, and were early astir; it would be a delightful day, they felt sure of that, for the sun was already up, and there was hardly a cloud in all the mild blue sky.

Neither too hot nor too cold: it was quite a hunter's morning. The scenery, too, through which they rode all day was ever varying, but ever beautiful. Frank said when the day was done, and they once more stretched their tired limbs around the camp-fire, that he had never enjoyed himself so much in his life.

"What, not down in Wales?" said Fred, quietly.

"Circ.u.mstances alter cases," said Frank.

The hunters on this occasion mustered strongly, there being a field of little under fifty, princ.i.p.ally settlers and settlers' sons. They brought their own dogs--strong-built hounds, just suited for the wild work they have to accomplish. More and more exciting grew the chase as the day wore on; and it ended in such a finale as can only be witnessed in one country in the world, and that is Australia. Kangaroos, wild horses, bullocks, emus, hounds and men, mixed in apparently inextricable confusion.

Now it was all very well for Frank to boast about the grand day he had enjoyed. He had been lucky: his horse and he seemed made for each other. He was in at the death. Fred was not; but Fred's horse was.

Chisholm and his horse were both there; but, alas for glory! Chisholm's horse's heels were all in the air, and Chisholm himself--why, he was down under somewhere.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

PART VII--THE PAMPAS.

SWALLOWED UP IN THE FOREST--BUENOS AYRES--AWAY TO THE WILDS--A COLONY OF HIGHLANDERS--FRANK TO THE FORE.

There is no word in the world your true British sailor better knows the meaning of than that little noun _duty_. Lyell's time was up; he must hurry back to Sydney, and thence to England, by very quickest boat; and so he did, and his last words to our heroes were these:--

"Don't think of returning without having a look at the Pampas; to be sure you might go straight to San Francisco and away home by train and steamer. That would be going round the world in one sense--a landsman's not a sailor's sense. Whenever I meet a man who says he has been round the world, I just pull him up sharp by asking him some such question as, 'Did you ever drink tea in Pay-San-Du?' That usually settles him.

By-bye. We'll meet again."

And away went merry-hearted Lyell, leaving sadder hearts behind him.

Yes, but sad only for a time. There was a deal to be seen in Australia yet, and Chisholm was not sorry to spend a few months longer in this queer country, where everything seems topsy-turvy. But their last day in the kind and hospitable home of the Thompsons came round, and all too soon to one at least; and so adieus were spoken and whispered, hands were pressed, ay, and foolish tears were shed by pretty eyes, and handkerchiefs waved; then the great forest seemed to swallow them up.

The great green and gloomy forest has swallowed our heroes up; but, hey presto! what is this we see? A blue, blue sea in which a brave ship has just dropped anchor--a bluer sky that makes the eyes ache to behold; other ships at anchor and boats coming and going from a distant town, only the spires and steeples of which can be seen with the naked eye.

On the deck of this ship stand Chisholm, Fred, and Frank, and beside them a smart naval officer in blue and gold and white.

Yes, you have guessed right. Lyell was the first to greet them when the anchor rattled down into the shallow waters off Buenos Ayres. He had been appointed to a South American station, and here he was, looking as happy and jolly and red as ever.

"And at present," said Lyell, "I am my own master; so for six weeks I'm at your service."

There was little encouragement for stopping in this city of straight streets and tame houses, and heat and dust, so they jumped at Lyell's suggestion to get on land as soon as possible. Lyell knew some folks, he said, that would "show them a thing or two."

A long journey first in a comfortless train, through a country as level and lonesome as mid-ocean itself. Hot! it was indeed hot, and they were glad when the sun went down; for the carriages in which they rode were over-upholstered, and the paint stood up in soft boiling blisters on the wood-work.

Now the journey is changed to one by river. Not much of a boat, to be sure; but then it is comparatively cool, and the scenery is sylvan and delightful. On once more next day, this time by diligence. This conveyance had none of the comfort of the Hyde Park canoe-landau. It was just what Lyell called it in pardonable slang, "a rubbly old concern--a sort of breed betwixt an orange-box, a leathern portmanteau, and a venerable clothes-basket. They paid a hawser out from its bows, and bent the nags on to that." Frank thought of his elephant ride.

But the country grew more hilly and romantic as they proceeded, and the inns, sad to say, worse and worse. Their beds were inhabited--strangely so; our heroes did not turn in to study natural history, or they might have done so. Indeed they had to rough it. The country grew wilder still; they had left the diligence with nearly broken bones; bought hones, hired guides, and now they found themselves on the very boundaries of a savage land. Ha! the fort at last, where Lyell's friends lived. Their welcome was a regal one. Half a dozen Scotchmen lived here, four of them married and with grown-up families--quite a little colony.

They shook hands with Lyell a dozen times. "Oh, man!" they cried, "but you're welcome." Then they killed the fatted calf.

These good people were farmers; their houses all rough, but well furnished; their flocks and herds numerous as the sands by the sea-sh.o.r.e. A wild, lonely kind of a life they led with their wives and their little ones, but they were content. There were fish in the streams and deer in the forest. You had but to tickle the earth with a toasting-fork, and it smilingly yielded up _pommes de terre_ which would grace the table of a prince.

Every soul in the colony was a McSomebody or other; so no wonder Chisholm was in his glory, no wonder--

"The nicht drive on wi' sangs and clatter."

When our heroes heard their princ.i.p.al host call out, "Send auld Lawrie McMillan here [his real name was Lorenzo Maximilian] to give us a tune,"

they had expected to see some tall old Highlander stride in with the bagpipes, not an ancient, wiry Spaniard, guitar-armed. Is it any wonder Chisholm burst out laughing when this venerable ghost began to sing--

"Come under my plaidie, the night's gaun to fa'."