CHAPTER VII

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*THE DEATH OF THE FOREST MONARCH*

"There's the white-box and pine on the ridges afar, Where the iron-bark, blue-gum, and peppermint are; There's many another, but dearest to me, And king of them all is the stringy-bark tree." HENRY LAWSON.

As several years had intervened between the present and the last flood of considerable dimension, every creek, gully, and river-flat of the upper reaches were contributing their quota of fallen timber, which in the interval had encumbered the earth. In addition, the flood-waters had torn many a giant eucalyptus, roots and all, from its earthhold, and had borne it on its heaving and rebellious bosom, a mere plaything of its vengeful humour.

Up to the present a monarch of the forest, whose rugged bole bears indubitable evidence of its antiquity, stands skywards with its head in the clouds. The Philistines are upon it. Its innumerable roots, lateral and vertical, hold with frantic clutch to mother earth, as it grimly wrestles with its Gargantuan foe. But the earth, which for years innumerable has mothered the forest lord, furnishing his daily portion of meat and drink, nourishing and cherishing him till he bulks in girth and height as Saul among the prophets, proving faithful in every tussle with wind and flood heretofore, now turns traitor. The soil dissolves in the swirling waters as they ravish the earth. Above and underneath the roots it melts, and is carried away in the thickening stream. The hold of the old monarch is weakening. His limbs are trembling. His strong body, that has withstood the pressure of a thousand fights with the hereditary foe, vibrates and sways now, as his remorseless antagonist grips him in cruel embrace.

His old comrades higher up, who have fallen earlier in this battle of giants, come drifting along, battered and torn; veritable shipwrecks, dismantled and broken. One floating leviathan, flood-driven, sweeps onward full upon his writhing form ... a violent shock and shudder that runs from root to topmost leaf ... a last wrestle, strong, heroic, and pitiful! ... Then, betrayed and spent, under the last straw, as it were, of the fateful impact of his wrecked mate--now converted into a battering-ram--the grand old hero-king yields. His foe has sought and found, like one in the olden time, his vulnerability in his heel. Overborne at last, but not yet broken, he shakes his lofty head in the quiver of mortal spasm. Suddenly he topples, lurches, staggers, and falls with a mighty crash, which is, indeed, a resounding death-cry. Striking the enemy with a last, concentrated, savage blow, he splits her bosom, and sends great spurts of her muddy blood, spray-like, a hundred feet in air. But the wound heals as speedily as delivered, and from thence he passes quickly, in company with his defeated brothers, an inert mass of strewn wreckage, to form, farther down upon the skurrying waters, a floating barricade of death-dealing timbers. And so on and on, till the blue sea is reached, where it is heaved to and fro, a rudderless hulk upon the bosom of the ocean; until it is stranded at last as flotsam and jetsam upon the beach.

By skilful manipulation of oars and rudder the boys managed to evade the timber masses. The numerous whirlpools constituted a great danger. Once or twice they were almost sucked under as they circled in a vortex. Their position was extremely perilous. The greatest danger lay from contact with the isolated logs and tree-trunks that sped down with great velocity, appearing and disappearing in the vicious eddies, rotating with the swirling stream, and popping up porpoise-like in unexpected quarters. On one occasion, in dodging a mass of driftwood, they ran right on to a big tree. Fortunately the tree was sinking at the time of impact under the influence of an under-current, and, at Joe's sharp command, the rowers rushed the boat across the submerged tree-bole. Scarcely had they crossed the line ere the submarine monster rolled upward, till at least half its length was out of the water. It was a narrow squeak. To have been caught on its rising movement would have meant utter shipwreck.

It has been stated that owing to the river bend, and from other causes, the current set diagonally across to the other side. Drawing thus towards the farther shore, the boat's crew neared a timbered point, below which the water expanded over the low-lying country for miles. So far only the thickly fringed timber belts could be seen. It was questionable if they could find any dry earth. In all likelihood, however, even should there not be any landing-place, they would find protection from the current behind the thick wood. As they got close in to the scrubby portion the boys saw, to their great disappointment, that the land was still submerged. They had hoped to find a patch of earth. All they can do now is to shelter behind the timber.

"Pull, boys, pull hard!" cried Joe, the while he turned the boat's nose towards a rear clump. His quick eye discerned an eddy formed by a point higher up. Rowing into this, the boat was eased in its downward track, and after getting well in behind the clump they were able to make headway against the stream, finally fastening to a big she-oak almost in still water. Here they were out of the tract of the current and the perils of the driftwood.

What a relief to the half-dazed and frightened boys!

Captain Joe, be it said, though fearful enough while in the roaring waters, kept all his wits about him. Often as his heart jumped into his mouth he as quickly swallowed it again. More than once his resourcefulness saved the boat from certain disaster.

"Thank God!" exclaimed he, as Tom tied the painter to a strong limb, and the boat rode easy.

"It was a touch and go, lads. Don't cry, Jimmy!" as that lad, yielding to a feeling of reaction, burst into tears. Tom was not much better, and furtively wiped his eyes under the pretence of blowing his nose. In a few minutes the boys were themselves again. The roar and rush of the waters filled their oars and souls as they lay at anchor. So deafening were the sounds that it was only by shouting they could hear one another.

Stretching inland, and reaching to the distant hills, nothing was to be seen but a waste of waters, with here and there a bushy hillock, a miniature island. What remained of the settlers' houses looked like so many Noah's arks. Moving figures could be seen on one which lay a long way off. They were the unfortunate owners, who, by delaying their retreat until too late, were driven on to the very ridge pole for safety. Fortunately they were in still water; so at least it seemed from the distance; consequently their position was not alarming. Tree marks showed the river to be falling at a fairly rapid rate.

"Now then, boys, let's hold a council of war!"

"Wot's that, Joe?"

"It's what they say in soldiering when the generals get into a fix," chipped in Tom.

"Oh, gollies! let us get home as quick as possible. If we don't they'll think we're drownded an'----"

"Look here, Jimmy, stow that rot! If we start talking in that fashion, we'll get unnerved. Billy, you first! Tell us what you think about the situation."

"Long's we're here we're safe. There's a 'possum in the spout above us. I'll climb up and get 'im for tucka."

"We can't cook 'possum in the boat, Billy. No dry wood; no matches. You're right enough about safety, though. These trees have borne the brunt of the flood stream at its highest, and things are getting easier. Jimmy, what do you think of it?"

"I--I--I dunno. Oh, my poor m-other!" cried Jimmy, whose emotions again overpowered him.

"Didn't I tell you to stow that water-cart business? Dry up, or I'll jolly well tan your hide for you, you soft milksop!"

Joe's severity was partly assumed. He was fighting himself about home thoughts. He knew the folly of giving way at this crisis to such a natural sentiment.

"You, Tom! You've a notion, I'm sure," said Joe to his chum.

"My opinion, chaps, is that we ought to be very thankful for bein' where we are, an' stay here a bit anyways. It'd be madness to attempt to recross the river. What's to prevent us pullin' over there?" pointing to a hillock nearly a mile away inland.

"Tom's right, boys. We must make up our minds, hard as it is, to camp on this side to-day. It'd be easy enough to do as Tom says, row over to that island. Supposin', though, the water went down a lot during the night; we might have to drag the boat over a lot of mud to get to the river-bank to-morrow. Bes' stay where we----"

"S-s-h! Listen a moment, Joe," interjected Tom from the bow of the boat. "What noise's that?"

"Don't hear anythin' 'cept the river. What sort o' noise, Tom?"

"I heered it, Joe," said Yellow Billy. "Bear cryin', I bin thinkin'. Heer it now."

All the boys could hear the sounds now, faint enough, yet distinct above the flood roar.

"Bear, I 'speck! Have a good look round, boys."

All eyes were bent in the direction of the sound. They scanned the trees for that strange, pouch-bearing--half bear, half sloth--animal called the native bear. Strictly speaking, it is neither bear nor sloth, being a perfectly harmless, tailless marsupial of the koala genus. Its cry is intensely, and often pathetically, human.

For some time the search was unrewarded; while ever and anon a cry, strangely like an infant's wail, came to the ears of the searchers.

"P'r'aps, after all, it's only the wind in the river oaks; or is it a----"

"Look, boys! look, look!" cried Tom excitedly. "What's that over at the edge of the timber, up there in a fork?"

"Whereaway, Tom?"

"See the clump beyond the back-water, out in the stream?"

"M--y-e-s, I see. Why, yes, my word! I do believe it's a----"

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