# Moondyne/The Bush Fire

was the afternoon of a day of oppressive heat on which Mr.Wyville and Hamerton started from Perth to ride to the mountains of the Vasse. They were lightly equipped, carrying with them the few necessaries for the primitive life of the bush.
For weeks before, the air had been filled with an irritating smoke, that clung to the earth all day, and was blown far inland by the sea-breeze at night.
As the horsemen were leaving Perth, they met a travel-stained police trooper, carrying the mail from the southern districts. He recognized the Comptroller General, and saluted respectfully as he passed.
"Where is the fire, trooper?" asked Mr. Wyville.
"In the Bunbury district, sir, and moving towards the Vasse Road. It has burnt on the plains inside the sea-hills for three weeks, and in a day or two will reach the heavy bush on the uplands."
They rode at a steady and rapid pace, conversing little, like men bent on a long and tedious journey. The evening closed on them when they were crossing the Darling Range. From the desolate mountain-road, as they descended, they saw the sun standing large and red, on the horizon. Before them, at the foot of the range, stretched a waste of white sand, far as the eye could reach, over which their road lay.
The setting of the sun on such a scene has an awfulness hard to be described. The whiteness of the sand seems to increase until it becomes ghastly, while every low ridge casts a black shadow. During this time of twilight the sand-plain has a weirdly sombre aspect. When the night comes in its black shroud or silvery moonlight, the supernatural effect is dispelled.
As the travellers rode down towards the plain, impressed by this ghostly hour, Mr. Wyville called Hamerton's attention to two dark objects moving on the sand at a distance.
Hamerton unslung his field-glass, and looked at the objects.
"A man and a woman," he said, "they are going ahead, and the woman carries a load like the natives."
Soon after, the sun went down beyond the desert, and the plain was dark. The horsemen spurred on, oppressed by the level monotony before them. They had forgotten the travellers who were crossing, the wearywaste on foot.
Suddenly Hamerton's horse swerved, and a voice in the darkness ahead shouted something. It was a command from the man on foot, addressed to the woman, who, in her weariness and with her burden, had not been able to keep pace with him, and had fallen behind.
"Come along, curse you! or I'll be all night on this plain."
The speaker had not seen nor heard the horsemen, whose advance was hidden by the night and the soft sand. They rode close behind the woman, and heard her laboured breathing as she increased her speed.
A sense of acute sorrow struck at once the hearts of the riders. They had recognized the voice as that of Draper—
they knew that the miserable being who followed him and received his curses was his wife.
They rode silently behind her, and halted noiselessly as she came up with her husband. He growled at her again as she approached.
"I am very tired, Samuel," they heard her say in a low, uncomplaining voice; "and I fear I'm not as strong as I thought I was."
She stood a moment as she spoke, as if relieved by the moment's breathing-space.
"Look here," he said in a hard voice, meant to convey the brutal threat to her soul; "if you can't keep up, you can stay behind. I'll stop no more for you; so you can come or stay. Do you hear?"
"O, Samuel, you wouldn't leave me in this terrible place alone! Have pity on me, and speak kindly to me, and I will keep up—indeed, I'll not delay you any more to-night."
"Have pity on you?" he hissed between his teeth you brought me to this, and I am to have pity on you!"
He turned and strode on in the dark. She had heard, but made no reply. She struggled forward, though her steps even now were unsteady.
Mr. Wyville, having first attracted her attention by a slight sound, so that she should not be frightened, rode up to her, and spoke in a low voice.
"I am the Comptroller-General—do not speak. Give me your burden. You will find it when you arrive at the inn at "Pinjarra."
She looked up and recognized Mr. Wyville; and without a word she slipped her arms from the straps of the heavy load, and let him lift it from her.
"God bless you, sir!" she whispered tremulously; "I can walk easily now."
"Here," said Hamerton, handing her his wine-flask, keep this for yourself, and use it if you feel your strength failing."
"Where is your husband going?" asked Mr. Wyville.
"He is going to the Vasse, sir. A whale ship has come in there, and he thinks she will take us off."
They rode on, and soon overtook Draper. Mr. Wyville addressed him in a stern voice.
"If your wife does not reach Pinjarra to-night in safety, I shall hold you accountable. I overheard your late speech to her."
The surprised caitiff made no reply, and the horsemen passed on. They arrived at the little town of Pinjarra two hours later.
Next morning, they found that Draper had arrived. Mr. Wyville arranged with the innkeeper and his wife for Harriet's good treatment, and also that a stockman's team, which was going to Bunbury, should offer to take them so far on their way.
It was a long and fatiguing ride for the horsemen that day, but as the night fell they saw before them, across an arm of the sea, the lights of a town.
"That is Bunbury," said Mr. Wyville, "the scene of our friend Sheridan's sandalwood enterprise."
They stopped in Bunbury two days. Mr. Wyville spending his time in the prison depot, instructing the chief warder in the new system. They found Ngarra-jil there, with fresh horses. He was to ride with them next day towards the Vasse.
As they were leaving the town, on the afternoon of the third day, they met a gang of wood-cutters, carrying bundles on their backs, coming in from the bush.
"Are you going to the Vasse?" asked one of the wood-cutters, who was resting by the roadside.
"Yes."
"Well, keep to the eastward of the Koagulup Swamp and salt marshes. The fire is all along the other side. We've been burnt out up that way."
They thanked him, and rode on. Presently, another man shouted after them—
"There's a man and woman gone on before you, and if they take the road to the right of the swamp, they'll be in danger."
They rode rapidly, striking in on a broad, straight road, which had been cleared by the convicts many years before. Mr. Wyville was silent and preoccupied. Once or twice Hamerton made some passing remark, but he did not hear.
The atmosphere was dense with the low-lying smoke, and the heat was almost intolerable.
A few miles south of Bunbury, the road cut clear across a hill. From the summit, they caught their first sight of the fire. Mr. Wyville reined his horse, and Hamerton and the bushman followed his example.
Before them stretched a vast sea of smoke, level, dense, and grayish white, unbroken, save here and there by the topmost branches of tall trees, that rose clear above the rolling cloud that covered all below.
"This is Bunbury racecourse," said Mr. Wyville; "the light sea-breeze keeps the smoke down, and rolls it away to the eastward. This fire is extensive."
"Where is our road now?" asked Hamerton.
"Through the smoke; the fire had not yet reached the plain. See: it is just seizing the trees yonder as it comes from the valley."
Hamerton looked far to the westward, and saw the sheeted flame, fierce red with ghastly streaks of yellow, hungrily leaping among the trees in waves of terrific length. For the first time in his life he realized the power of the element. It appalled him, as if he were looking on a living and sentient destroyer.
"We must ride swiftly here," said Mr. Wyville, beginning the descent; "but the plain is only three miles wide."
In a minute they had plunged into the murky air, and, with heads bent, drove their horses into a hard gallop. But the animals understood, and needed a little pressing. With ears laid back, as if stricken with terror, they flew, swift-footed.
The air was not so deadly as the first breath suggested. The dense smoke was thickest overhead; beneath was a stratum of semi-pure air. The heat was far more dangerous than the fumes.
At last they reached the rising ground again, and filled their lungs with a sense of profound relief. The prospect was now changed, and for the better.
The fire in their front appeared only on the right of the road. It stretched in a straight line as far as they could see, burning the tall forest with a dreadful noise, like the sea on a rocky shore, or like the combined roar of wild beasts. The wall of flame ran parallel with the road, about a mile distant.
"It is stopped there by a salt marsh," said Mr. Wyville; "but that ends some miles in our front."
"Koagulup there," said Ngarra-jil, meaning that where the marsh ended the great swamp began. The wood-cutters had warned them to keep to the left of the swamp.
"We must surely overtake those travellers," said Mr. Wyville to Hamerton, "and before they reach the swamp. They might take the road to the right, and be lost."
They galloped forward again, and as they rode, in the falling dusk of night, the fire on the right increased to a glare of terrific intensity. They felt its hot breath on their faces as if it panted a few yards away.
Suddenly when they had ridden about two miles, Mr. Wyville drew rein, looked fixedly into the bush, and then dismounted. He walked straight to a tall tuad-tree by the roadside, and stooped at its base, as if searching for something.
When he rose and came back, he had in his hand a long rusty chain, with a lock on one end.
"You have keen sight, sir," said Hamerton, astonished.
"I did not see it," he answered quietly; "I knew that it was there. I once knew a man to be chained to that tree."
He tied the chain on his horse's neck, and mounted with more words. From that moment he seemed to have only one thought—to overtake and warn those in front.
Half an hour later, they drew rein where the roads divided, one going to the right, the other to the left of the swamp. The travellers were not yet in sight.
"Which road have they taken?" asked Hamerton.
Ngarra-jil had leaped from his horse, and was running along the road to the left. He came back with a disappointed air, and struck in on the other road. In half a minute he stopped, and cried out some guttural word.
Mr. Wyville looked at Hamerton, and there were tears in his eyes. He rode to him, and caught him by the arm.
"Take the other road with Ngarra-jil, and I will meet you at the farther end of the swamp. It is only twelve miles, and I know this bush thoroughly."
Hamerton answered only with an indignant glance.
"Do not delay, dear friend," and Wyville's voice was broken as he spoke; "for my sake, and for those whose rights are in your hands, do as I say. Take that road, and ride on till we meet."
"I shall not do it," said Hamerton, firmly, and striking his horse. "Come on! if there is danger, I must face it with you."
His horse flew wildly forward, terrified by the tremendous light of the conflagration. Wyville soon overtook him, and they rode abreast, the faithful bushman a horse's length behind.
On their left, a quarter of a mile distant, stretched the gloomy swamp, at this season a deadly slough of black mud, with shallow pools of water. On their right, a mile off, the conflagration leaped and howled and crashed its falling trees, as if furious at the barrier of marsh that baulked it of its prey. The bush between the swamp and the fire was brighter than day, and the horsemen drove ahead in the white glare.
They saw the road for miles before them. There was no one in sight.
Five, seven, nine of the twelve miles of swamp were passed. Still the road ahead was clear for miles, and still no travellers.
As they neared the end of the ride, a portentous change came over the aspect of the fire. Heretofore it had burned high among the gum-trees, its red tongues licking the upper air. There was literally a wall of fire along the farther side of the salt marsh. Now, the tree-tops grew dark, while the flame leaped along the ground, and raced like a wild thing straight towards the swamp.
"The fire has leaped the marsh!" said Mr. Wyville.
The whole air and earth seemed instantly to swarm with fear and horror. Flocks of parrots and smaller birds whirled screaming, striking blindly against the horsemen as they flew. With thunderous leaps, herds of kangaroo plunged across the road, and dashed into the deadly alternative of the swamp. The earth was alive with insect and reptile life, fleeing instinctively from the fiery death. Great snakes, with upraised heads, held their way, hissing in terror, towards the water, while timid bandicoot and wallaby leaped over their mortal enemies in the horrid panic.
The horses quivered with terror, and tried to dash wildly in the direction of the swamp.
"Hold on, for your life!" shouted Wyville to Hamerton. "Do not leave the road."
As they spurred onward, their eyes on the advancing fire, their hearts stood still one moment at a piercing sound from their rear. It was a woman's shriek: the agonized cry reached them above all the horror of the fire.
Hamerton did not know what to do, but he saw Mr. Wyville rein up, and he did so also. They looked back, and a mile behind saw the two unfortunates they had come to warn. They had strayed from the road, and the riders had passed them. The fire had now closed in behind them, and was driving, them forward with appalling fury.
"For God's sake, ride on!" shouted Mr. Wyville to Hamerton, his voice barely heard in the savage roar of the conflagration.
"And you?" cried the other, with a knitted brow.
"I am going back for these—I must go back. God bless you!"
He struck his spurs, into his horse, and the animal sprang to the front. But next instant he was flung back on his haunches by Ngarra-jil, dismounted, who had seized the bridle. The bushman's eyes blazed, and his face was set in determination.
"No! no!" he cried in his own language; "you shall no you shall not! It is death, MOONDYNE! It is death."
Wyville bent forward, broke the man's grasp, speaking rapidly to him. His words moved the faithful heart deeply, and he stood aside, with raised hands of affliction, and let him ride forward.
Hamerton did not follow; but he would not try to escape. He sat in his saddle, with streaming eyes following the splendid heroism of the man he loved dearest of all the world.
It was a ride that could only be faced by audacious bravery. The hot breath of the leaping fire was moving the whole bush through which Wyville rode. The leaves on the trees overhead shrivelled and smoked. The cinders and burning brambles floated and fell on man and horse.
But the rider only saw before him the human beings he meant to save. Nearer and nearer he drew; and he shouted, as best he could, to cheer them; but they did not hear him.
He saw with straining eyes the man throw up his hands and sink to the earth; and he saw the woman, faithful to the last, bending over him, holding the wine flask to his parched lips. He saw her, too, reach out her arms, as if to shield the fallen one from the cruel flame that had seized them. Then she breathed the air of fire, and sank down. Next moment, Wyville leaped from his horse beside them.
It was too late. The woman had fallen in front of the flame, as if to keep it from the face of the man who had deserved so little of her devotion; and still the hand of the faithful dead held to his lips the draught that might have saved her own life.
One moment, with quivering face, the strong man bent above her, while his lips moved. Then he raised his head, and faced his own danger.
Already the fire had cut him off; but it was only the advanced line of the conflagration that bad reached the water. It was possible to dash back, by the edge of the swamp.
The awful peril of the moment flashed on him as he rode. The horse bounded wildly ahead; and the skilled hand guided him for the best. But, as he flew, other scenes rose before the rider even brighter than that before him. The present was filled with horror; but the past overtook him and swept over his heart like a great wave of peace.
A tree crashed to the earth across his path. He was forced to drive his horse into the fire to get round the obstacle. The poor animal reared and screamed, but dashed through the fire, with eyes scorched and blinded by the flame, now solely dependent on the hand of its guide. The rider felt the suffering animal's pain, and recorded it in his heart with sympathy.
It was that heart's last record, and it was worthy of the broad manhood that had graved it there. He had given his life for men—he could pity a dumb animal.
By the side of the swamp he was stricken from the saddle by the branch of a falling tree. His body fell in the water, his head resting on the tangled rushes of the swamp.
Once, before he died, his opened eyes were raised, and he looked above him into the sea and forest of fire. But he would not accept that; but upwards, with the splendid faith of his old manhood, went the glazing eyes till they rested firmly on the eternal calmness of the sky. As he looked, there came to him, like a vision he had once before dimly seen, a great Thought from the deep sky, and held his soul in rapt communion. But the former dimness was gone; he saw it clearly now for one instant, while all things were closing peacefully in upon him.
Then the man's head sank peacefully to its couch, the limbs stretched out for their lone, rest, the strong heart stopped its labours.
He was dead.
They found his body next day, unscathed by the fire, preserved by the water in which he had fallen. Reverent hands lifted the burden and bore it into the dim recesses of the bush, followed by numerous dusky mourners.
One white man stood among the children of the forest; but he had no claim higher than theirs. Above the dead stood the white-haired chief, Te-mana-roa, bowed in silent grief. A spearwood litter was made, and the body placed on it. It was raised by the bushmen, who stood awaiting the old chief's orders.
Te-mana-roa turned to Hamerton, who alone of all the assembly belonged to the dead man's race. The old chief read profound grief in his face, and drew closer to him.
"This man belonged to us," he said, laying his dark finger on the wide brow of the dead; "he was true to my people, and they understood and loved him better than his own. We shall bury him in the Vasse."
The litter-bearers moved slowly forward, the old chief took his place behind the dead, and the bushmen with trailed spears followed in sad procession.
Hamerton's heart went strongly with the mourners; but he could not question their right. Two strange spearmen stood near him, to guide him safely through the bush. The faithful Ngarra-jil was gone, to mourn by the lonely grave of the MOONDYNE.
The End