against my faith to have anything whatever
to do with the horrid orgy they contemplated. The Great Spirit they
dreaded so much yet so vaguely, I went on to say, had revealed to me that
it was wrong to kill any one in cold blood, and still more loathsome and
horrible to eat the flesh of a murdered fellow-creature. I was very much
in earnest, and I waited with nervous trepidation to see the effect of my
peroration. Under the circumstances, you may judge of my astonishment
when not only the chiefs, but the whole "nation" assembled, suddenly
burst into roars of eerie laughter.

Then came Yamba to the rescue. Ah! noble and devoted creature! The bare
mention of her name stirs every fibre of my being with love and wonder.
Greater love than hers no creature ever knew, and not once but a thousand
times did she save my wretched life at the risk of her own.

Well, Yamba, I say, came up and whispered to me. She had been studying
my face quietly and eagerly, and had gradually come to see what was
passing in my mind. She whispered that the chiefs, far from desiring me
to kill the girl for a cannibal feast, were _offering her to me as a
wife_, and that I was merely expected to tap her on the head with the
stick, in token of her subjection to her new spouse! In short, this blow
on the head was the legal marriage ceremony _tout simple_. I maintained
my dignity as far as possible, and proceeded to carry out my part of the
curious ceremony.

I tapped the bright-eyed girl on the head, and she immediately fell
prostrate at my feet, in token of her wifely submission. I then raised
her up gently, and all the people came dancing round us, uttering weird
cries of satisfaction and delight. Oddly enough, Yamba, far from
manifesting any jealousy, seemed to take as much interest as any one in
the proceedings, and after everything was over she led my new wife away
to the little "humpy," or hut, that had been built for me by the women.
That night an indescribably weird _corroboree_ was held in my honour, and
I thought it advisable, since so much was being made of me, to remain
there all night and acknowledge the impromptu songs that were composed
and sung in my honour by the native bards. I am afraid I felt utterly
lost without Yamba, who was, in the most literal sense, my right hand.

By this time she could speak a little English, and was so marvellously
intelligent that she seemed to discover things by sheer intuition or
instinct.