 41 How Jimmy heard the Bunyup speak, and at all proved to be big, tough. I need not recount what past just then, but few words were spoken, and there was no time for displays of affection. One black had seen and pursued Jimmy, and others might be on our track, so that our work was far from being half done, even now. Can you walk, sir? said the doctor sharply. My poor father raised his face toward the speaker, and uttered some incoherent words. No, no, he has been kept bound by the ankles till the use of his feet has gone, said Mr Francis, who had remained silent up to now. Can't walk, Jimmy Carrion, said the black in a whisper. Don't make noise here in Blackfellow. You are tired, said the doctor. Let me take a turn. Jimmy made no objection, but bore the gun, while the doctor carried my father slowly and steadily on for some distance. Then the black took a turn and bore him right to the place where our black followers were waiting, and where Jack Penny was anxiously expecting our return. I thought he wasn't coming back, he said, as Jimmy sat down the burden, and then in a dull full voice he continued, I couldn't do that, my back so weak. But Ty High and his friends saw our difficulty and cut down a couple of long stout bamboos whose tops were soon cleared of leaves and shoots. Two holes were made in the bottom of a light sack whose contents were otherwise distributed. The poles thrust through, and my poor father gently laid upon the sack. Four of us then went to the ends of the poles, which were placed upon our shoulders, and keeping step as well as we could, we went slowly and steadily on, Mr Francis taking the lead and acting as guide. Our progress was very slow, but we journeyed steadily on hour after hour, taking advantage of every open part of the forest that was not likely to show traces of our passage, and obliged blindly to trust Mr Francis as to the wave. It was weary work, but no one seemed to mind, each even Jack Penny taking his turn at the end of one of the bamboos, and when at last the morning broke and the bright sunshine showed us our haggard faces, we still kept on. The daylight helping us to make better way till the sun came down so fiercely that we were obliged to halt in a dense part of the forest where some huge trees gave us shade. Mr Francis looked uneasily about, and I caught his anxious gaze directed so often in different directions that I whispered to the doctor my fears that he had lost his way. Never mind, lad, replied the doctor, we have the compass. Our way is south towards the coast, anywhere as long as we get beyond reach of the blacks. No, don't disturb him, let him sleep. I was about to draw near and speak to my father, in whose careworn hollow face I gazed with something approaching fear. His eyes were closed, and now for the first time I could see the ravages that the long captivity had made in his features. But mingled with these, there was a quiet, restful look that made me draw back in silence from where the litter had been laid, and join my companions in partaking of such food as we had. Watch was set, the doctor choosing the post of guard, and then lying anywhere, we all sought for relief from our weariness in sleep. As for me, one moment I was lying gazing at the long unkept hair and head of him I had to come to seek, and thinking that I would rest like that, rising now and then to see and watch with the doctor. The next I was wandering away, in dreams, through the forest in search of my father, and then always blank till I started up to catch at my gun, for someone had touched me on the shoulder. There is nothing wrong, my lad, said the doctor. Fortunately, for I had been a bad sentry, and had just woken to find that I had been sleeping at my post. Sleeping, I said, still confused from my own deep slumbers. Yes, he said, everyone has been asleep from utter exhaustion. I looked around, and there were our companions sleeping heavily. I've been thinking that we may be as safe here as farther away. Continued the doctor, so let them rest still, for we have a tremendous task before us to get down to the coast. Just then Jimmy leaped up, staring, his hand on his body, and his eyes wandering in search of danger. This being absent, his next idea was regarding food. Much hungry, he said, want mutton, want damper, want items. The rest were aroused, and water being close at hand in a little stream. We soon had our simple store of food brought out and made a repression meal, of which my father, as he lay, partook mechanically, but without a word. The doctor then bathed and dressed his ankles, which were in a fearfully swollen and injured state. Like Mr. Francis, he seemed as if his long captivity had made him think like the savages among whom he had been. While the terrible mental anxiety he had suffered along with his bodily anguish had resulted in complete prostration. He ate what was given to him, all drunk with his eyes closed, and when he opened them once or twice, it was not to let them wander round upon us, who attended to him, but to go straight up in a vague manner, and mutter a few of the native words before sinking back into a stupor-like sleep. I gazed at the doctor with my misery speaking in my eyes, for it was so different a meeting from that which I had imagined. There was no delight, no anguished tears, no pressing to a loving father's heart. We had found him a mere hopeless rick, apparently like Mr. Francis, and the pain I suffered seemed more than I could bear. Patience, the doctor said to me, with a smile. Yes, I know what you want to ask me. Let's wait and see. He was dying slowly, Joe, and we have come in to save his life. You are sure, I said? No, he answered. Not sure, but I shall hope. Now let's get on again till dark, and then we'll have a good rest in the safest place we can find. In the exertion and toil that followed, I found some relief. My interest, too, was excited by seeing how much Mr. Francis seemed to change hour by hour, and how well he knew the country which he led us through. He found for us a capital resting place in a rocky gorge, where, unless tracked step by step, there was no fear of our being surprised. He there was water and fruit, and, shorter distance as we had come, the darkness made it necessary that we should wait for day. Then followed days and weeks of slow travel, through a beautiful country, always south and west. We did not go many miles some days, for the burden we carried made our passage very slow. Sometimes, too, our black scouts came back to announce that we were travelling towards some black village, or that a hunting party was in our neighbourhood. And though these people might have been friendly, we took the advice of our black companions and avoided them, either by making a detour or by waiting in hiding till they had passed. Water was plentiful, and Jimmy and Ty High never let us want for fruit, fish, or some animal, for food. Now it would be a wild pig or a small deer, more often birds, for these literally swarmed in some of the lakes and marshes round, which we made our way. The country was so thinly inhabited that we could always light a fire in some shut in part of the forest without fear. And so we got on, running risks at times, but on the whole meeting with but few adventures. After getting over the exertion and a little return of fever from too early, leaving his sick bed abounds, Mr Francis mended rapidly, his wound healing well and his mind daily growing clearer. Every now and then, when excited, he had relapses and looked at us hopelessly, talking quickly in the savages' tongue, but these grew less frequent, and there would be days during which he would be quite free. He grew so much better than at the end of a month, he insisted upon taking his place at one of the bamboos, proving himself to be a tender nurse to our invalid in his return. And all this time, my father seemed to alter, but little. The doctor was indefatigable in his endeavours, but though he soon wrought a change in his patient's bodily infirmities to such an extent that at last my father could walk first a mile, then a couple, and then ease the bearers of half their toil, his mind seemed gone, and he went on in a strangely vacant way. As time went on, and our long journey continued, he would walk slowly by my side, resting on my shoulder, and with his eyes always fixed upon the earth. If he was spoken to, he did not seem to hear, and he never opened his lips, saved to utter a few words in the savaged tongue. I was in despair, but the doctor still bade me hope. Time works wonders, Joe, he said. His bodily health is improving wonderfully, and at last that must date upon his mind. But it does not, I said. He has walked at least six miles today, as if in a dream. Oh, doctor, I exclaimed. We cannot take him back, like this. You keep bidding me hope, and it seems no use. He smiled at me in his calm, satisfied way. And yet I've done something, Joe, he said. We found him. We got him away. We had him first a hopeless invalid. He is now rapidly becoming a strong, healthy man. Healthy? In body boy, recollect that for years he seemed to have been kept chained up by the savages, like some wild beast, perhaps through some religious grouples against destroying the life of the white man who was wise in trees and plants. Likely enough they feared that if they killed such a medicine man, it might result in a plague or curse. That is why they spared us both, said Mr. Francis, who had heard the latter part of our conversation, and the long course of being kept imprisoned. There seemed to completely freeze up his brain, as he did mine. That and the fever and blows I received, he said excitedly. There were times when he clapped his hands to his head, as if he did not trust himself to speak, and turned away. Yes, that is it, my lad, said the doctor quietly. His brain has become paralyzed as it were. A change may come at any time. Under the circumstances, in spite of your mother's anxiety, we'll wait and go slowly homeward. Let me see, he continued, turning to a little calendar he kept. Tomorrow begins the tenth month of our journey. Come, be of good heart. We've done wonders. Nature will do the rest. Two days later we had come to a halt in a lovely little glen, through which trickled a clear spring, whose banks were brilliant with flowers. We were all busy cooking and preparing to halt there for the night. My father had walked the whole of the morning, and now had wandered slowly away along the banks of the stream. Mr. Francis, being a little further on, while Jimmy was busy standing beside a pool, spearing fish. I glanced up once or twice to see that my father was standing motionless on the bank, and then I was busying myself once more, cutting soft boughs to make a bed, when Jimmy came bounding up to me with his eyes starting and mouth open. We're a gun, we're a gun, he cried. Big bun youp down, mung trees, try to eat Jimmy. Ask for him dinner, all loud, oh. Hush, be quiet, I cried, catching his arm. What do you mean? Big bun youp down, mung stones say. Who? Much hungry, where my boy? Someone said that, I cried. Yes, much hungry, where my boy? One eat black boy, eat Jimmy. What nonsense, Jimmy, I said. Don't be such a donkey, there are no bun youps. Jimmy heard him say him, he cried, stamping his spear on the ground. Just then I involuntarily glanced in the direction where my father stood, and saw him stoop and pick up a flower or two. My heart gave a bound, the next minute he was walking slowly toward Mr Francis, to whom he held out the flowers, and then I felt giddy, for I saw them coming slowly towards our camp, both talking earnestly, my father seeming to be explaining something about the flowers he had picked. The doctor had seen it too, and he drew me away, after cautioning Jimmy to be silent, and there we stood while those two rescued prisoners talked quietly and earnestly together, but it was in the savage tongue. I need not tell you of my joy, or the doctor's triumphant looks. It is the beginning, Joe, he said, and hardly had he spoken when Jimmy came up. Not bun youp tall, he said scornfully. Not no bun youp, all big tup. Jimmy messed Joe, further talk away, say, where my boy? End of chapter 4 he won. Chapter 42 of Bun Youp Land This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org recording by Rose. Bun Youp Land by George Manville Fenn. Chapter 42 How I Must Wind Up the Story It was the beginning of a better time, for from that day, what was like the dawn of a return of his mental powers, brightened and strengthened into the full sunshine of reason. And by the time we had been waiting at Tihi's village, for the coming of the captain with his schooner, we had heard the whole of my father's adventures from his own lips, and how he had been struck down from behind by one of the blacks while collecting, and kept a prisoner ever since. I need not tell you of his words to me, his thanks to the doctor, and his intense longing for the coming of the schooner, which seemed to be an age before it came in sight. We made Tihi and his companions happy by our supply of presents, for we wanted to take nothing back. And at last, one bright morning, we sailed from the glorious continent-like island, with two strong middle-aged men on board, both of whom were returning to a civilised land, with the traces of their captivity in their hair and beards, which were white as snow. Neither shall I tell you of the safe voyage home, and of the meeting there. Joy had come at last where sorrow had sojourned so long, and I was happy in my task that I had fulfilled. I will tell you, though, what the captain said in his hearty way over and over again. To me it used to be, Well, you have grown. Why, if you had stopped another year, you'd have been quite a man. I say, though, I never thought you'd have done it, upon my word. Similar words, these, to those often uttered by poor, prejudiced, obstinate old nurse. To Jack Penny, the captain was always saying, I say, youngen, how you've grown too, not upwards, but beamways. Why, hang me, if I don't think you'll make a fine man yet. And so he did, a great, strong, six-foot fellow, with a voice like a trombone. Jack Penny is a sheep farmer on his own account now. And after a visit to England with my staunch friend, the doctor, where I gained some education, and used to do a great deal of business for my father, who was one of the greatest collectors in the South, I returned home, and went to stay a week with Jack Penny. I say, he said, laughing, my back's as strong as a lion's now. How it used to ache! We were standing at the door of his house, looking north, for we had been talking of our travels, when all at once I caught sight of what looked like a little white tombstone under a eucalyptus tree. Why, what's that? I said. Jack Penny's countenance changed, and there were a couple of tears in the eyes of the great, strong fellow. As he said slowly, that's to the memory of Jip, the best dog as ever lived. I must not end without a word about Jimmy, my father's faithful companion in his botanical trips. Jimmy nearly went mad for joy when I got back from England, dancing about like a child. He was always at the door, black and shining as ever, and there was constantly something to be done. One day he had seen the biggest old man kangaroo as ever was, and this time there was a wallaby to be found, another the announcement that the black cooker twos were in the woods, or else it would be, Mars Joe, Mars Joe, Jimmy won't go catch fish very bad, do come a day. And I? Well, I used to go, and it seemed like being a boy again to go on some expedition with my true old companion and friend. Yes, friend, Jimmy was always looked upon as a friend, and long before then my mother would have fed and clothed him, given him anything he asked. But Jimmy was wild and happiest so, and I found him just as he was when I left home, faithful and boyish and winning, and often ready to say, hey, when Mars Joe ready, go and find him farther all over again. End of Chapter 42. End of Bunyip Land by George Manville Fenn.