followed the tactics usual on such occasions, and flung themselves into a
heap, similar in colour and contour to that described in a previous
chapter, when we searched the Herbert River. The same thing took place
again exactly; we sat down in a circle round them, waiting for the
deafening "yabbering" to die away, which "yabbering" burst forth in all its
pristine discord, whenever one of the party made the slightest movement.
Time and patience, however, had the desired effect, restoring tone to their
not over sensitive systems, and at the expiration of half an hour, we could
distinguish sharp, bead-like black eyes peering at us out of the mass,
which had now sunk into silence, but burst out again louder than ever, when
Lizzie made her appearance from one of the gunyahs -- perhaps the paternal
roof, who knows? -- where she had retired, swelling with indignation, and
as sulky as a whole team of mules. Finding that no one took any notice of
her, and half an hour's reflection having, I suppose, convinced her, that
if she wanted to make a display before her relations, now was the time, her
ladyship came slowly up to the circle, and commenced an attack on poor
Dunmore, as she knew him best. To transcribe her words would be
impossible, for she put in a native sentence whenever she found herself at
a loss for an English one, but the burden of her plaint was this: --

"Plenty d--d fooly fellow, white fellow" -- a string of Hinchinbrook
vernacular -- "Baal you been shoot 'em like 'it dingo" -- more
Hinchinbrook, but evidently, from the accompanying gestures, indicative of
intense disgust -- "Baal mine take any more along of black fellow camp" --
half sobs -- "Baal mine care suppose you fellow all go like 'it --"

And she summarily consigned us to the bottomless pit, as the only place at
all suited for such stupid idiots who could refrain from shooting blacks
when so grand an opportunity presented itself. Her eyes flashed fire as
she delivered herself of her woes, and at the concluding sentence she