The drays with which I was travelling (it was in the month of March, 1849) had arrived as far as Lake Boga, on the Lower Murray River, within a day's journey of our destination. We had halted for the night close to a sheep-station established there. In the course of the evening the gentleman in charge of it—Macfarlane was his name—walked over to our camp; and I was informed by him that Mr. Stevenson, the superintendent of the run I was about to visit, had on the previous day ridden over to meet me, and had only returned home that afternoon. Having ascertained from him that I was a medical man, Mr. Macfarlane had come to invite me to his hut, and to ask me to visit one of his blacks, who had been wounded by a party from a tribe fifty miles up the river. These men had started originally for the purpose of surprising the blacks on Stevenson's station; but, traces of their presence in that neighbourhood having been discovered, they were forced to beat a retreat. In their rage at their disappointment, they had resolved, if possible, to slaughter some of the Lake blacks, rather than return empty-handed; but there also they were happily frustrated in their design, and only succeeded in wounding one man, whose leg they broke with a musket ball.
After this second disappointment, it was confidently anticipated that they would, as they generally did when their intended surprise proves a failure, return home, and await a more favourable opportunity. But they did not do so in this instance, as the result will show; for I subsequently had an opportunity of witnessing a striking illustration of the savage and barbarous mode of warfare of the Australian aboriginal, an opportunity not often afforded to the white man.
I set the wounded black's limb as well as I could with bark splints, and next day we started on our way to the banks of the Murray. The drays had to cross the river in order to reach the station I was going to. This was done by means of a punt, which had lately been built by a man who had also opened an inn for the use of travellers to South Australia, the road to which passed by the banks of the stream.
As we came in sight of this building, which was of weatherboard, with a verandah in front, I saw a man standing in the middle of the track or road, and watching our approach; and upon drawing near I observed that he was a black. When the driver, by whose team I was, recognised him, he uttered an exclamation, and stopped his dray.
'If there isn't that villain himself I was talking about to you, sir!'
'What do you mean?' I said.
'Why, I told you those blacks we heard of at the Lake yesterday, and who came to attack ours, wanted to kill one man in particular. That's him! His name is Bobby Peel, and he's the biggest rascal in the whole country round. It's a wonder he's alive yet, for when we left the run for this last trip to town, six or seven weeks ago, the black police were after him; and yet there he stands, as cool as you please, as if he hadn't ever killed a white man. Look at him!' he added, as his mate came up with his team.
'Why, it's Sir Robert! So he isn't settled yet. It isn't for want of trying; for if he's been shot at once, he has been twenty times at least. He'd a been dead long ago, only for our super, who won't let our men shoot him, as any one of them would only be too glad to do. There's not a place in the whole country round where he durst show himself, only ours.'
'How is that?' I asked.
'Because he's allers been a-robbing the out-station huts, sneaking in when the hut-keeper's away. He's a capital rider; and he'd get horses as he'd stole planted away in the bush, tethered handy; and he gallops off thirty miles one way, and robs a hut, and then gallops back and shows himself at our station. Then, when the squatters complain to our super about it, he says, "It couldn't ha' been Bobby, cos Bobby was at my head station that day you say your hut was robbed." Then next day, perhaps, away goes Master Bobby another way, and plays the same game! You see he isn't like the other blacks, who're afraid to travel alone after dark on account of the "devil-devils" they believe walk at night in the bush. But he was bowled out at that game at last, not long before we started this trip, and the super threatened he'd shoot him himself if he heard tell of any more of his games!'
The drays had moved on as he was speaking, and drew up at the door of the inn, for the punt-man to put them across the river; but no one appeared, and we found upon entering that the publican was away, and that the women of the place had locked themselves into one of the rooms. Hearing our voices, and the teams stopping, they ventured out.
'Oh, Bill, is it you?' said the publican's wife to the driver; 'I'm so glad! Send that horrid man away. You know it was him killed Mr. Berridge. I wonder they let him go about that way; he ought to be shot! He knew my husband was away, and the punt-man gone across the river, or he wouldn't have dared to show.'
'He would run very quickly if any of the young Mr. Berridges happened to come this way and catch sight of him,' said the other woman. 'They have often hunted for him.'
I turned to look at the man thus spoken of, and who seemed to be an object of hatred to black and white alike. He was still standing in the middle of the road, where he could command a view up and down and across the river, so that no foe could approach him unobserved. He seemed about twenty-five, slenderly built and tall, and was dressed in a complete suit of cast-off European clothing,—brown linen jacket, trousers, and waistcoat,—so that at a distance he might pass for a European. His eye had that peculiar, watchful, suspicious glance characteristic of the hunted man; it never for a instant ceased to wander over the landscape, except now and then, when he fixed them upon me as I stood with the others in the verandah. He was a good-looking fellow for a black, but there was a dark and desperate expression lurking beneath the appearance of carelessness which he put on under the looks of our party.
'How he looks at you, doctor!' said the driver. 'Hullo! here he comes. What's he got to say?' and, paying no regard to the women, who ordered him off, the black walked up to where I stood.
'Name—you?' he said, looking keenly at me.
'He wants to know your name,' said the driver, Bill.
'This one—doc—doc?' he asked the man, and pointing at the same time to me.
'See that, now!' said the other driver; 'if he doesn't know already you're a doctor! How could he know that?'
'Easy enough!' said his comrade. 'Either he was at the Lake, or else met some black from there, and they've told him about the doctor setting the other one's leg; that's how he knows.'
Meanwhile Bobby went back to the middle of the road, and, after casting a comprehensive glance all round, beckoned to me to go to him.
'Don't you go near him, sir,' said the women; 'it's well known he has killed many white men, and you may depend his spears are lying handy somewhere close by!'
But I had no fears on that score, and, curious to know what he could want with me, I left the rest and approached him. He led the way to the river bank, which was about thirty or forty yards in front of the house, and very steep, and descended the cutting in it formed to permit the drays to be driven down on to the deck of the punt. Here he was hidden from the sight of those in the verandah, but he kept in such a position that he could see over the top of the cutting if any of the party approached. I told them, however, not to follow me, as I intended to keep within call. Here Bobby threw off his jacket, and showed me his left shoulder and arm, on which were the marks of two wounds. Upon examining, I found that two slugs had lodged in them, and the black intimated that he wished me to cut them out. One had entered and lodged above the shoulder-blade, and was easily extracted by the forceps of my pocket-case, aided by a slight incision. The other had entered half-way up the arm, and travelled downwards until it reached the elbow, where it prevented free motion of the joint. This required rather a deep incision to get out, but he stood it without flinching. The whole affair did not occupy many minutes; and when it was over he said,—
'You got um—'bacca?'
I had a cake of cavendish in my pocket, and I gave it him, and he then stretched out his arm with a pleased look at having again recovered the free use of it. Then, taking me by the hand, he said,—
'Good white fellow, you!' Then looking round at the house near, and spreading his hand out, to indicate all the stations about his native place, he said, while a savage scowl settled upon his face,—
'All about—white fellow—no good!' and he shook his fist and uttered a fearful execration. For, ignorant as most blacks are of English, in swearing at us they rapidly become proficient. Just then we heard the noise of a horse's hoofs coming down the road, and, after giving one look over the bank at the rider, Bobby turned to me and said,—
'Good-bye, doc, doc!' and plunged into the river, gained the other side, and disappeared in the reeds, which just there grew in thick patches. He had good reason for leaving in a hurry. The horseman was one of the sons of a neighbouring squatter whom he, in conjunction with others, had the credit of having killed. Vengeance had overtaken all his companions in that exploit; but Bobby was still at large.
* * * * *
The squatting-station of which Mr. Stevenson was the superintendent was of very considerable size, extending for twenty miles along one side of the Murray, and for nearly the same distance back from the stream, which there flows through a level country, consisting of open plains alternating with belts and forests of timber, the latter giving place in many parts to patches, more or less extensive, of mallee scrub. Three-fourths of the run were reserved for sheep, the remainder for cattle, the head station huts being placed on the river banks, not far from the crossing-place. Besides the superintendent, the only other occupant of his hut was a young gentleman named Harris, who acted as overseer, and who was fitting himself for one day being able to manage a station of his own.
I had been some weeks on the run when Stevenson invited me to accompany him and the overseer on a visit of inspection they were about to make round to the different out-stations. The main object of this ride round was to supply the hut-keepers and shepherds with some strychnine he had just received from Melbourne, and with which he intended, if possible, to destroy the dingoes, or warrigals (wild dogs), whose ravages amongst the sheep had of late been frightful, twenty, thirty, and in one instance thirty-seven sheep of a flock being bitten in a single night. And as every sheep bitten, however slightly, dies (pining away as imprisoned by the wound), and as there were eight or nine out-stations, each equally exposed to attack, the losses may be imagined. Four hundred were killed, or died, during the first fortnight of my visit; indeed, the gentleman who formed the station some two years previously had sold it solely on account of this pest. Stevenson had determined to try what systematic poisoning of the run would do to diminish if not destroy this nuisance.[1]

[1] The dingo is now almost extinct in Victoria. Strychnine has greatly hastened its extermination.

It was a beautiful morning in April, the beginning of the Australian winter, when we started on our trip, which was to occupy two days. Our first day's ride was almost one continued hunt, for on nearly every plain we passed over one or more groups of kangaroo were visible, and, as my companions had brought their two dogs with them, chase was always given, and to me, who had lately been cooped up on shipboard, the change was glorious. The day was warm, but a cool breeze swept over the plains. We were mounted on stock horses, fleet, and in excellent trim; the dogs were well-bred, and always selected the foremost kangaroo of the herd, passing by all the rest; and as this animal often runs in a circle, and the plains were frequently two or three miles or more in diameter, the hunt was in full view from the beginning to the end.
It was curious to watch the hawks, which to my surprise had followed us all day, ever since we left the home station. They had found out by experience that when the dogs accompanied the horsemen a dinner was always left for them on the plains. High above us they followed the course of the chase, and when kangaroo and dogs were lost in the timber, we could always tell, by watching the hawks, the direction they were taking. At the cattle-station where we passed the night, the old stockman, Steve, assured me that these birds had learned to distinguish between his cattle dogs and the kangaroo hounds, as they never offered to accompany him in his daily rides unless he had the latter with him.
The consequences of all this rough bush-riding were, however, rather unpleasant to me, who had not mounted a horse except at rare intervals for years; and when we started next morning to resume our journey I had some difficulty in reaching my saddle, and hoped that our ride home would be a more quiet one. In this, however, I was disappointed, for we had scarcely left the cattle-station a mile before the dogs sighted an emu; and, after killing that, some wild cattle from the mallee were seen, and a long gallop after them ensued, in which my horse, a wilful, hard-mouthed brute, would take part, despite my protests to the contrary; so that by noon I was completely done up, and heartily wished the day's ride were ended.
As we came up to an out-station hut close to the border of the cattle-run, the hut-keeper stood at the door to receive us.
'I expected you yesterday, sir,' he said; 'or else old Steve.'
'Why?'
'Didn't you get my message?' the man asked.
'No; I got no message. What about?'
'There's been some games going on among the cattle,' replied the hut-keeper. 'The shepherd thought he heard a shot early in the morning, and saw them scampering out of the timber on to the plain where his sheep were. Here is the shepherd coming now,' he added; 'he must have seen you riding across the plain.'
The man presently reached the hut, and corroborated the hut-keeper's statement, adding that he thought he saw a spear sticking in the side of a beast which passed nearer him than the rest of the herd.
'I knew there were blacks about the day before, for I see their tracks; and I bet any money,' he added, 'it's that vagabond Bobby Peel and his mob have been killing a beast.'
'He had better not go too far,' said Stevenson, with an ominous look. 'Which part of the timber was it, Dick, and when did it happen?'
'Day before yesterday; there was a traveller passed here that morning on his way down to the river, and he said he intended staying that night at the head station, and would tell you.'
'He never called. What kind of a traveller—a horseman?'
'No, sir; a shepherd looking for a job, with his swag on his back. He must have passed the station and gone on to the public-house; yet he promised faithfully to tell you.'