134 TROPIC DAYS 



intended to follow until she regained her country, 

 many a weary mile to the south. Providence provided 

 an easy means of crossing the estuary of the rivers 

 a kindly white man, owner of a "little fella boat, little 

 fella ingin." To him she told the story of her escape 

 and her longing for her own country and her own people, 

 and was ferried across. Then she picked up a camp 

 of her race, the members of which, sympathising with 

 her, accompanied her on her way for a couple of days. 

 One day she woke from her sleep on the edge of the 

 mangroves with her blanket sopping with blood which 

 had flowed from her mouth and nose during sleep. 

 "Me bin sorry belonga that boy Jim. Me bin sorry 

 belonga country. That 'nother country no good belonga 

 me. Me think me die. Me walk alonga sandy beach. 

 Some time alonga b-i-g fella rock. Me close up tumble 

 down altogether. Me tired. B'mbi catch 'm Liberfool 

 Crik (Liverpool Creek). Plenty fella sit down. He 

 bin sing out, ' Hello ! You come back from that 

 place ?' Me bin say 'Yes; that country no good belonga 

 me.' " 



A month or so after Nelly was again found in the 

 service of a coloured alien, tugging away with another 

 weak gin at what she calls a "two-fella saw." For 

 her task of sleeper-cutting her reward would probably 

 be a handful of rice and a dose of opium per day. 



Nelly is now at her leisure within a mile or so from 

 the place of her birth, hardly conscious of the feat 

 represented by her solitary pilgrimage. Occasionally 

 she has the company of her tall and indifferent boy. 

 She enjoys the society of her relations, and indulges 

 as oft as may be in exhilarating misunderstandings 

 with them. Without a vehement squabble now and 

 again life would be intolerably insipid. Anger, accom- 

 panied by fluent abuse, is to her a kind of spiritual 



