# Lindigo, the White Woman/Chapter 24

CHAP. XXIV.
A WELCOME STRANGER.
The attempted escape of the white captive led Bungilina to set a strict guard over her day and night, and her heroic companion, Matoka, was forbidden holding any conversation with her, merely supplying and attending her, with necessaries for her subsistence and comfort. This added greatly to her unhappy and forlorn state.
The loss of Matoka's company and confidence was, however, partly replaced by a little orphan boy, whose father has been, as already stated, shot by the white men, when besieged in their stockade, and his mother having died of grief at the loss of her husband.
Lindigo took pity on the boy, and as an atonement for the unfortunate and unavoidable act of her own race, she adopted him and became his protectress. Takawarrant fully acknowledged the kindness and attention thus bestowed upon him, which exceeded that of his mother, and, consequently, he became more attached to the generous Lindigo than to his late parents, whose loss he soon forgot.
His insignificance and youth admitted him to the meetings; he thus became aware of the secrets and intentions of the tribe, through which Lindigo was made fully acquainted with their transactions since Matoka's estrangement. But, alas! since the fates had apparently set their faces against her, this last source of happiness was soon snatched from her; for one day, as some of the tribe were visiting the mainland, and had encamped in the scrub, near the lake, an alarm was raised by the man on watch, when she was forced by Bungilina ​through the dense tea-tree, along with the rest. Under the impression that the unknown enemy were a hostile tribe, she willingly submitted, and sought cover until the tribe had mustered again, when she found that the only one missing was her poor adopted Takawarrant. His loss not being thought of any consequence to the chief of the tribe, she knew it was vain to apply for his rescue from his captors, so that she had to submit.
The time had now arrived when, in accordance with the custom of the tribe, and Matoka having attained age and importance among the Warrigals, it became incumbent upon him that he should take to himself a wife, who was to be stolen from some rival tribe; and in order to sustain that dignity which by his bravery he held, he chose to carry off his bride from among his most hostile enemies, the more risk and danger he ran in such an undertaking the more exalted would be his position in the estimation of the tribe. One moon was the allotted time for accomplishing his undertaking.
True to the confidence placed in him, Matoka returned before the specified time with a female stranger, and to Lindigo a very welcome one, on seeing her wear a European calico dress, and above all her being able to converse in broken English, a language she had not heard for many days.
The joy experienced by Lindigo was great on listening to Maria, as she called herself, and which name she said was given to her by "Massa Duart," her own and her husband Quandak's white master. She then told how she had been ruthlessly taken away while Quandak was from home, how kind Massa Duart was to them, and so beloved by all his servants and acquaintances, how she had been nursing Mrs. Munro's little boy and girl "Charlie and Bella," how Mrs. Munro kept house for her master, and her husband Donald acted as overseer, how little Takawarrant became quite happy in his new home, and lastly how Quandak on his return would institute a search for her.
These were the acceptable and joyful details furnished by the communicative Maria to her eager listener, who drank in every word of the narrative, although couched ​in many distorted and ill-used English words, but nevertheless the intelligence was sweet to her ear. Fresh hopes now filled her mind that her rescue would be soon effected through Maria's loss, and that he would be sure to tell of her being with the Warrigals.
Maria's company was now a source of happiness which she little anticipated, and Matoka, who as yet had made but little impression on his forced bride, patiently waited until the impenetrable heart of Maria yielded to him, made no objection to the intimacy which had sprung up between her and Lindigo. He accordingly begged the latter to plead his cause with Maria, and endeavour to reconcile her to her fate, but she remained faithful to Quandak, from whom she was so ruthlessly stolen.
Matoka had now earned for himself a great name for penetrating the territory of the white man, and forcing from thence a bride of the natives attached to them.
In acknowledgment of these honours he resolved on making amends for his former disloyalty (in attempting to restore Lindigo to the white men) by keeping strict guard over her and Maria lest they should make their escape; so that any hopes of him being serviceable to them in obtaining their liberty entirely vanished.
The summer season was now advanced, and the time of visiting the Alps (on the disappearance of the snow) according to their annual custom had arrived. This, with a dread of a search being made, or the knowledge of the captive being in their power, made them move towards the mountains for greater security from their white neighbours. Such a proposition and resolve extinguished the last hope which Lindigo entertained, but Maria never despaired, and always encouraged her by saying—"Neber bear; Quandak berry good tracker, bye-an-bye come up with white fellows; plenty shoot him Warrigal."
These were but poor consolations for the white captive, who knew better the character of their captors, their determination, and the motives which, governed them to keep possession of their captives; and she also knew that should a forcible attempt be made for their rescue, their own sacrifice would be the consequence sooner than the Warrigals would give up possession of them.
​Under these harassing thoughts, Lindigo, with her swarthy companion, was obliged to commence their weary pilgrimage towards the Alps, and leave behind the level plains, where Charlie was stationed quite ignorant of her sad fate.
Many a languishing and sad look she cast behind on gaining each eminence from which she could view the property of him who would sacrifice all for her sake; and she, the poor exile, suffering so many hardships and sorrows, which even the most wretched black on his station would view with horror. Another source of terror presented itself on the fatal journey, and the near approach of her being entirely out of reach. This was a strenuous appeal made by Matoka to plead his cause with Maria, otherwise he should be under the necessity of compelling her to enter his gunyah, although Lindigo had as yet dissuaded him from taking such a course. But another threat made by him filled Lindigo with more terror than anything she had experienced for many years, and which she would sooner suffer death than endure. This was that Bungilina intended to put in force the same condition respecting herself. At this announcement she almost fainted, but still having some slight hope, she told Matoka that he might entertain some hopes of gaining Maria without having to resort to such extremities.
That evening on arriving at an old encampment among the mountains after a fatiguing day's journey, while Lindigo was communicating the threats to Maria at the fire, a strange whistle pierced the air, the latter suddenly started, and quietly said:—"Ah! Quandak?" then checking herself, she whispered in her fair companion's ear, that she was positive it was his signal whistle, and that they might make their escape before morning.
While thus indulging between fear and hope, Matoka approached the fire, expressing a wish to know what Bran was beseiging with such eagerness at the stump, and on his searching for a fire-stick, with the intention of smoking the game out, Lindigo sprung up in terror, test the hidden game should be connected in any way with the signal whistle. It was under this impression ​that she approached the hollow tree where Charlie was in ambush, and on hearing his well-known voice, she turned quickly round to arrest Matoka in his intention. Being fully prepared for any emergency, she with uncommon self-possession and with an insinuating voice, took the fire-brand out of his hand on the plea of horror at seeing a poor animal suffocated. She then wished him to follow her to the fire where Maria was sitting, with the hope that some favourable agreement might take place between him and the latter.
Flushed with these hopes, Matoka willingly surrendered his fire-brand, and Lindigo calling Bran to her side, warded off the fatal blow which threatened her lover.
Placing him between her and Maria, giving a significant glance at the latter, she adroitly engaged his attention by encouraging words as to the change in Maria's disposition towards him, when the same mysterious whistle again sounded through the air. "Wah!" exclaimed Matoka, impressed with a superstitious awe on hearing so strange a sound, being conscious of never having heard it before that night, and certain that it was not made by any night animal or bird, he said:—"Have you heard that? I am certain that such a strange sound forebodes fatality to some of the tribe."
While Matoka was under the influence of the dreaded whistle, Maria whispered in Lindigo's ear, "Look out again." The latter sprung to her feet a second time, and hearing some of the savages gathering round the shell, she approached it, when she espied one of them in the act of drawing his spear to strike her lover, at the same instant the explosion, with the death veil of the savage so impressed her, that she fell insensible on the spot.
How long she remained in this state she did not know, but on recovering her consciousness, she found herself carried in the powerful arms of Bungilina, through wild and rough country in the dark, and the whole tribe seemingly on the move around her.