I now approach the momentous time when this unfortunate man recovered his senses.When he regained consciousness after the fit Yamba and I were with him, and so was his wife.I had not seen him for some days, and was much shocked at the change that had taken place.He was ghastly pale and very much emaciated.I knew that death was at hand.Just as he regained consciousness--I can see the picture now; yes, we were all around his fragrant couch of eucalyptus leaves, waiting for him to open his eyes--he gazed at me in a way that thrilled me strangely, and I KNEW I WAS LOOKING AT ASANE WHITE MAN.His first questions were "Where am I? Who are you?" Eager and trembling I knelt down beside him and told him the long and strange story of how I had found him, and how he had now been living with me nearly two years.I pointed out to him our faithful Bruno, who had often taken him for long walks and brought him back safely, and who had so frequently driven away from him deadly snakes, and warned him when it was time to turn back.Itold him he was in the centre of Australia; and then I told in brief my own extraordinary story.I sent Yamba to our shelter for the letter I had found in his tracks, and read it aloud to him.He never told me who the writer of it was.He listened to all I had to tell him with an expression of amazement, which soon gave place to one of weariness--the weariness of utter weakness.He asked me to carry him outside into the sun, and I did so, afterwards squatting down beside him and opening up another conversation.HETHEN TOLD ME HIS NAME WAS GIBSON, AND THAT HE HAD BEEN A MEMBER OFTHE GILES EXPEDITION OF 1874.From that moment I never left him night or day.He told me much about that expedition which I can never reveal, for I do not know whether he was lying or raving.
Poor, vulgar, Cockney Gibson! He seemed to know full well that he was dying, and the thought seemed to please him rather than otherwise.He appeared to me to be too tired, too weary to live--that was the predominant symptom.
I introduced Yamba to him, and we did everything we possibly could to cheer him, but he gradually sank lower and lower.I would say, "Cheer up, Gibson.Why, when you are able to walk we will make tracks straightway for civilisation.I am sure you know the way, for now you are as right as I am." But nothing interested the dying man.Shortly before the end his eyes assumed a strained look, and I could see he was rapidly going.The thought of his approaching end was to me a relief; it would be untrue if I were to say otherwise.For weeks past I had seen that the man could not live, and considering that every day brought its battle for life, you will readily understand that this poor helpless creature was a terrible burden to me.He had such a tender skin that at all times I was obliged to keep him clothed.For some little time his old shirt and trousers did duty, but at length I was compelled to make him a suit of skins.Of course, we had no soap with which to wash his garments, but we used to clean them after a fashion by dumping them down into a kind of greasy mud and then trampling on them, afterwards rinsing them out in water.Moreover, his feet were so tender that I always had to keep him shod with skin sandals.
His deathbed was a dramatic scene--especially under the circumstances.Poor Gibson! To think that he should have escaped death after those fearful waterless days and nights in the desert, to live for two years with a white protector, and yet then die of a wasting and distressing disease!
He spent the whole day in the open air, for he was very much better when in the sun.At night I carried him back into his hut, and laid him in the hammock which I had long ago slung for him.Yamba knew he was dying even before I did, but she could do nothing.
We tried the effect of the curious herb called "pitchori," but it did not revive him."Pitchori," by the way, is a kind of leaf which the natives chew in moments of depression; it has an exhilarating effect upon them.
On the last day I once more made up a bed of eucalyptus leaves and rugs on the floor of Gibson's hut.Surrounding him at the last were his wife--a very good and faithful girl--Yamba, myself, and Bruno--who, by the way, knew perfectly well that his friend was dying.He kept licking poor Gibson's hand and chest, and then finding no response would nestle up close to him for half-an-hour at a time.Then the affectionate creature would retire outside and set up a series of low, melancholy howls, only to run in again with hope renewed.
Poor Gibson! The women-folk were particularly attached to him because he never went out with the men, or with me, on my various excursions, but remained behind in their charge.Sometimes, however, he would follow at our heels as faithfully and instinctively as Bruno himself.For the past two years Bruno and Gibson had been inseparable, sleeping together at night, and never parting for a moment the whole day long.Indeed, I am sure Bruno became more attached to Gibson than he was to me.And so Gibson did not, as I at one time feared he would, pass away into the Great Beyond, carrying with him the secret of his identity.Looking at him as he lay back among the eucalyptus leaves, pale and emaciated, I knew the end was now very near.
I knelt beside him holding his hand, and at length, with a great effort, he turned towards me and said feebly, "Can you hear anything?" I listened intently, and at last was compelled to reply that I did not."Well," he said, "I hear some one talking.Ithink the voices of my friends are calling me." I fancied that the poor fellow was wandering in his mind again, but still his eyes did not seem to have that vacant gaze I had previously noticed in them.
He was looking steadily at me, and seemed to divine my thoughts, for he smiled sadly and said, "No, I know what I am saying.I can hear them singing, and they are calling me away.They have come for me at last!" His thin face brightened up with a slow, sad smile, which soon faded away, and then, giving my hand a slight pressure, he whispered almost in my ear, as I bent over him, "Good-bye, comrade, I'm off.You will come too, some day." A slight shiver, and Gibson passed peacefully away.
