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Robot Programming
From the basic concept to practical programming and robot application

A Handbook Written by TurtleBot3 Developers

YoonSeok Pyo I HanCheol Cho I RyuWoon Jung I TaeHoon Lim
ROS Robot Programming
Authors YoonSeok Pyo, HanCheol Cho, RyuWoon Jung, TaeHoon Lim

First Edition Dec 22, 2017

Published by ROBOTIS Co.,Ltd.

Address #1505, 145, Gasan Digital 1-ro, GeumCheon-gu, Seoul, Republic of Korea
E-mail [email protected]
Website www.robotis.com
ISBN 979-11-962307-1-5

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Copyright © 2017 ROBOTIS Co., Ltd.

Reproduction and modification of this book in any form or by means is strictly prohibited
without the prior consent or the written permission from the publisher.
 ROS
Robot Programming
YoonSeok Pyo, HanCheol Cho, RyuWoon Jung, TaeHoon Lim
Preface

Robotics Engineering has great expectations laid upon it as an up-and-

coming industry and the next-generation growth power, even though it
currently has no clear business models except for industrial robots. The
problem is that it has been this way for over ten years, and there is still no
clear change since then. Why is this? Although there may be many
explanations, it stands that there are still many limitations on applying
robotics engineering to a business model. Commercialization still remains a
great task for this field. In order to solve this, there must be cooperation on a
global scale. This can be achieved through software platforms supported by
active communities. In the case of ROS, Robot Operating System, there are
academic researchers, industry personnel, and hobbyists all participating in
the development process. Furthermore, the people involved range from
robotics majors to network experts, computer scientists, and computer vision
specialists, bringing together a wide range of expertise not only in the robotics
industry but through cross-disciplinary fields. I expect robotics engineering to
develop towards a different path than the one it has been taking, solving
problems that were out of reach until now through cooperation and exchange
of resources. The time has come that robotics engineering is not a mere
industry of tomorrow, but an industry of today.

This book is a ROS robot programming guide based on the experiences we had
accumulated from ROS projects. We tried to make this a comprehensive guide
that covers all aspects necessary for a beginner in ROS. Topics such as
embedded system, mobile robots, and robot arms programmed with ROS are
included. For those who are new to ROS, there are footnotes throughout the
book providing more information on the web. Through this book, I hope that
more people will be aware of and participate in bringing forward the ever-
accelerating collective knowledge of Robotics Engineering.

Lastly, I would like to thank everybody who helped in publishing this book. I
am also grateful to Morgan, Brian, Tully and all ROS development team,
maintainers and contributors. A sincere gratitude to the ROS experts Jihoon
Lee, Byeongkyu Ahn, Keunman Jung, Changhyun Sung, Seongyong Koo, who
always shine new knowledge on me. I look forward to continue doing more
great things with you all. A special thanks to Changhoon Han, Inho Lee, Will
Son, Jason and Kayla Kim who was pivotal in helping the book be easy to
understand to non-experts. Thanks to the entire ROBOTIS team. This book is
here thanks to the great team, who started this endeavor with the question of
“What is a robot?” I would like to thank members of Open Source Team(OST),
which strives to help more people ponder upon and develop robots. I also
thanks to Jinwook Kim, he is a pillar in the open source ecosystem and
community. Much thanks to the ROS Avengers Hancheol Cho, Ryuwoon Jung,

iv
 Preface

and Taehoon Lim, who are all co-authors of this book. A special thanks to my
academic advisor from Kyushu University, Professor Ryo Kurazume and
Professor Tsutomu Hasegawa. You have allowed me to walk the path of a
researcher, and I continue to learn much from you. Thank you for the never-
ending teachings. I would also like to thank Hyungil Park and the entire
administrative team of OROCA who gave me endless support in making this
book. Thank you to all the members from OROCA and to the staff of the
OROCA Open Projects, who is so passionate of the open robotics platform
development. I look forward to more discussions and projects on many topics
regarding robotics. Thanks to the administrators of the Facebook group, the
Korea Open Society for Robotics, and to all my fellow colleagues who deeply
care for and ponder on the robotics. Thanks to the robot game team, RO:BIT,
with whom I have shared my youth. Thanks to the robot research club, ROLAB.
I would also like to thank the CEO, Bill(Byoungsoo) Kim, and CTO, Inyong Ha,
of ROBOTIS whose support my all activity so that I can write this book.

Last but not least, I would like to thank my loving family. To my parents: I love,
admire, and always thank you. I would like to extend my love and gratitude to
my parents-in-law, who always support me by my side. To my loving wife
Keunmi Park, who always takes care of me: I love you, always thank you, and
wish to live in much happiness with you! To my son, Jian, and daughter, Jiwoo,
who I cherish most in this world: I will always try to be a father that makes this
world brighter and happier!

July 2017,
Yoon Seok Pyo

v
Preface

Robots consist of many functional components and require specialized skills

in various fields. Therefore, there are still many technical limitations that
must be overcome and additional research necessary for robots to be used at a
level of everyday life. In order to do this, not only experts but also companies
in related industries and general users must collaborate in the effort. Beyond
the implementation and utilization of robots, we need a platform for
collaboration and technical progress, and I think that is ROS. ROS has various
elements for spreading and lowering entry barriers to technology. I hope that
the ROS platform will aid in the accumulation of knowledge and technology,
and new robots will be able to join our lives based on this.

Embedded systems control sensors and actuators play an important role in

processing data and configuring robots in real time. Microcontrollers are
generally used for real-time processing, and this book describes methods and
basic examples of using ROS for these embedded systems. I hope that it will be
helpful for users who use ROS to set up an embedded system.

I would like to thank Hyung Joon Pyo, Hyung il Park, and Byung Hoon Park for
our joined efforts in creating OpenCR. I will cherish memories of you helping
me to overcome my shortcomings. I am also grateful to Open Source Team
(OST) members who always make me cheerful and happy. I would like to
thank In wook Kim for giving me generous advice and encouragement during
difficult times since the beginning of my career. I would also like to thank
Byoung Soo Kim, the CEO of ROBOTIS for giving me the opportunity for a new
challenge in my life. When I was young, I read his writings in the Hitel online
society, which allowed me to learn a lot and eventually led me to make robots,
and ultimately I was able to join his company to make robots.

I promise to be a good father to my loving son, Yu Chan, who I have not been
able to play with a lot for the excuse of being busy. I would like to express my
love and gratitude to my wife Kyoung Soon, who always gives me strength
when I am in need and returns my immature behaviors with love and care.

July 2017,
Han Cheol Cho

vi
 Preface

Now, make robots as we imagined! There was a time when I used to make
robots using the robot kits enclosed in books. Even when I would succeed in
making simple movements, I was so pleased and content thinking “This is a
robot!” However, in recent years, many concepts of robots have been redefined
through the enhancement of computer performance, decreasing cost of
equipment, and the rapid and convenient prototyping of materials. Hobbyists
began to dive into making robots, growing the mass of information. Even cars,
planes, and submarines can now be called robot platforms as makers began to
automate their own products. As people in various fields started to incorporate
technology that encompasses a wide range of knowledge, robots have finally
begun taking the form of what it has long been dreamed of. At the first glance,
we may say that the robotics society is at a great age, but on the other side of
this progress, there could be those that have dropped out from the fast-paced
progress and trend of the performance and speed of today’s robots. This could
thereby make robots only accessible to those who have knowledge or the
people inside the industry.

ROS can be the solution to this problem. It is easy to learn and use the skills
required in the field without being an expert. You can save the time and money
it would have taken to aquire the skills that used to be necessary. A system is
developing that allows people to ask the producers about an issue and receive
direct feedback, enhancing the development environment. Companies such
as BMW are currently implementing ROS. It is becoming possible to use ROS
in business or for collaboration. The introduction of ROS can be considered as
having a competitive advantage in the corresponding field.

I hope that I will be able to meet the readers of this book again in the world of
ROS. I would like to express my sincere thanks and appreciation to the
members of Open Source Team (OST), especially Dr. Yoon Seok Pyo, who gave
me the opportunity to participate in writing this book. I would also like to
thank Han Cheol Cho and Tae Hoon Lim, who went through this process with
me amidst various ongoing projects. In addition, I would like to thank
Hyunjong Song and Hyun Suk Kim, who gave me generous advice and help in
the robot society, Jinwook Kim, who helped me so that I could continue
learning about robots, Ki Je Sung, who joined me in hosting the autonomous
driving tournament, and the members of the Oroca AuTURBO project, who I
have spent valuable times with. And I would like to express to appreciation to
my parents for their generous support and care. I want them to know that I
only wish to be able to repay their love somehow. I give my deepest gratitude
to my brother whose company has enriched my life and to Ha Kim, who will
always be by me. First and foremost, I give all the glory to my Creator, God.

July 2017,
Ryu Woon Jung
vii
Preface

Today we can find many videos in articles about how our society, economy,
and culture will change in the future based on state-of-the-art robot technology
and artificial intelligence. Although there is optimism that our lives will
improve thanks to the rapidly developing society, a pessimistic outlook that
the labor market will take a toll is making people more insecure. As such,
research and development on robots and artificial intelligence that is currently
taking place around us will have a profound impact on us in the near future.
Therefore, we have to be more interested in robot technology than we are now
and try to understand and be prepared for the future.

Open source is contributing to the development and popularization of

technology using collective intelligence in response to the rapidly developing
technologies of today. Robotics technology is now able to evolve through the
collaboration of many people based on open source, and complex algorithms
can be easily integrated into personal robots. We can prevent technology from
being monopolized by only a specific group to influence society, and we will
be able to overcome the mystery and fear of robots.

My goal is to touch people’s hearts through the application and change of

technology and to get the public more interested in these technologies. As a
first step, we are trying to allow people to learn various robot technologies
from the open source community and to get people to open up their project
code to foster collaboration among many people. Next, I plan to meet with
people who are in other fields and share each other’s thoughts and knowledge.
Through this, I hope to contribute to the popularization of technology in new
ways and provide various experiences that enable people to easily adapt to the
changing society.

I was in charge of the manipulator part of this book and tried to organize the
ROS, Gazebo, and MoveIt! Wiki contents to be easier to understand. I also tried
filling in gaps by including topics that were not explained in the Wiki which
took me some time to understand. I hope to be a person who can share useful
knowledge with others.

I would first like to thank Dr. Yoon Seok Pyo, who has given me many lessons
as my senior in school and as a supervisor at work. You gave me the courage
and opportunity throughout the entire process of writing this book. I would
also like to thank Dr. Chang Hyun Seong for reviewing my writing in spite of
your busy schedule, and for kindly answering all my questions. Special thanks
to my Open Source Team colleagues whom I spend time with from morning to
evening, and to the whole ROBOTIS company members who have always greet

viii
 Preface

me with smiles. I personally want to thank Professor Jong ho Lee, who was my
professor at my graduate school. Under his guidance, I was able to develop not
only engineering knowledge and research but also integrity, patience and
responsibility. Thank you once again.

Lastly, I would like to express my love and gratitude to my loving father who is
always by my side with a warm heart, my mother who has such curiosity and
creativity and is always open to learn from everything, and my only brother
with whom I always feel most comfortable. I would like to thank Go Eun Kim,
who has stood by my side for the past seven years with understanding and
enduring love. You make my heart beat each day.

July 2017,
Tae Hoon Lim

ix
About the Authors

YoonSeok Pyo

The lead author, YoonSeok Pyo, is a researcher at ROBOTIS and is the

manager in charge of the Open Source Team. He is researching and
developing an intelligent system for open source based service robot
platform. His work revolves around the question “what are robots to us?” and
strives to bring robots closer to our daily lives. After graduating from Kwang
Woon University in Korea with a degree in Electrical Engineering, he worked
at the Korea Institute of Science and Technology (KIST). He was a research
fellow of the Japan Society for the Promotion of Science (JSPS) from 2014 to
2016 in Japan. He received his Ph.D. and M.E. degrees in Information Science
and Electrical Engineering from Kyushu University, Japan. He enjoys talking
to people who have a dream in the field of robotics. He is always looking for
new adventures and hopes to meet readers of this book through lectures,
seminars, tutorials, and exhibitions related to robots and ROS.

HanCheol Cho

HanCheol is in charge of the firmware and robot controller development at

ROBOTIS. He was previously an ATM firmware developer at LG CNS and is
interested in programming and robots. His interest in robots started when
he first saw the micro mouse robot contest in middle school and has since
enjoyed studying and sharing information on robotics technology. In
particular, he is interested in the firmware that controls the robot hardware
as well as FPGA, and is working with projects in this field. He believes that
technology is most improved when shared, and dreams of still soldering and
programming in the twilight years of his life.

x
 About the Authors

RyuWoon Jung

Leon (RyuWoon) Jung is a researcher at ROBOTIS developing autonomous

driving systems and actuator applications. He believes that the value of
robots lies in filling in the gaps in the areas where humans fail to complement
each other and strives to reflect this in the research and development of
robots. Leon received his bachelor's and master's degrees from the
Department of Electrical Engineering and Bioscience at Waseda University.
He has written for the ROBOCON MAGAZINE and is in charge of AutoRace, a
large-scale autonomous driving robot competition. He is currently involved
in the research and development of autonomous driving robots in the Open
Source Robotics Technology Sharing Community (www.oroca.org).

TaeHoon Lim

Darby (TaeHoon) Lim is a ROBOTIS researcher in the Open Source Team

who is responsible for the development of the TurtleBot3 and
OpenManipulator, as well as acting as the keeper of good-looks in the office.
Darby believes that creativity comes from diverse experiences and a broad
range of knowledge, and therefore enjoys traveling, reading and speaking
with people with diverse backgrounds. Darby aims to develop robots that
can convey a different experience and leave an impression to many people,
using collaboration with people in fields such as movies, exhibitions, and
media to achieve this. He is hosting the “LookSo in Film” open project in
OROCA since 2016 as a bummer scriptwriter and software engineer.

xi
Open Source Contents

Open Source Software and Hardware

All of the open source software and hardware used in this book are publicly available on the
GitHub and Onshape and are being continuously updated with user feedbacks and improvements.
The following list of the GitHub and Onshape links are related to the open source software and
hardware used in this book.

Open Source Software List

≆≆ https://github.com/ROBOTIS-GIT/robotis_tools → Chapter 3

≆≆ https://github.com/ROBOTIS-GIT/ros_tutorials → Chapter 4, Chapter 7, Chapter 13

≆≆ https://github.com/ROBOTIS-GIT/DynamixelSDK → Chapter 8, Chapter 10

≆≆ https://github.com/ROBOTIS-GIT/dynamixel-workbench → Chapter 8, Chapter 13

≆≆ https://github.com/ROBOTIS-GIT/dynamixel-workbench-msgs → Chapter 8, Chapter 13

≆≆ https://github.com/ROBOTIS-GIT/hls_lfcd_lds_driver → Chapter 8, Chapter 10, Chapter 11

≆≆ https://github.com/ROBOTIS-GIT/OpenCR → Chapter 9, Chapter 12

≆≆ https://github.com/ROBOTIS-GIT/turtlebot3 → Chapter 10, Chapter 11

≆≆ https://github.com/ROBOTIS-GIT/turtlebot3_msgs → Chapter 10, Chapter 11

≆≆ https://github.com/ROBOTIS-GIT/turtlebot3_simulations → Chapter 10, Chapter 11

≆≆ https://github.com/ROBOTIS-GIT/turtlebot3_applications → Chapter 10, Chapter 11

≆≆ https://github.com/ROBOTIS-GIT/turtlebot3_deliver → Chapter 12

≆≆ https://github.com/ROBOTIS-GIT/open_manipulator → Chapter 13

xii
 Open Source Contents

Open Source Hardware List

≆≆ OpenCR (Chapter 9)

• Board: https://github.com/ROBOTIS-GIT/OpenCR-Hardware

≆≆ TurtleBot3 (Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13)

• Burger: http://www.robotis.com/service/download.php?no=676

• Waffle: http://www.robotis.com/service/download.php?no=677

• Waffle Pi: http://www.robotis.com/service/download.php?no=678

• Friends OpenManipulator Chain: http://www.robotis.com/service/download.php?no=679

• Friends Segway: http://www.robotis.com/service/download.php?no=680

• Friends Conveyor: http://www.robotis.com/service/download.php?no=681

• Friends Monster: http://www.robotis.com/service/download.php?no=682

• Friends Tank: http://www.robotis.com/service/download.php?no=683

• Friends Omni: http://www.robotis.com/service/download.php?no=684

• Friends Mecanum: http://www.robotis.com/service/download.php?no=685

• Friends Bike: http://www.robotis.com/service/download.php?no=686

• Friends Road Train: http://www.robotis.com/service/download.php?no=687

• Friends Real TurtleBot: http://www.robotis.com/service/download.php?no=688

• Friends Carrier: http://www.robotis.com/service/download.php?no=689

≆≆ OpenManipulator (Chapter 10, Chapter 13)

• Chain: http://www.robotis.com/service/download.php?no=690

• SCARA: http://www.robotis.com/service/download.php?no=691

• Link: http://www.robotis.com/service/download.php?no=692

xiii
Open Source Contents

Open Source Software Download

All source codes covered in this book are downloaded from the GitHub repository. There are two
ways to download the source codes: ➊ Direct download using the Git command, and ➋ Download
as a compressed file via a web browser. Please refer to the following instructions for each
download method.

➊ Direct Download

To use the “git” command to download directly in Linux, you will need to install git. Open a
terminal window and install git as follows:

$ sudo apt-get install git

You can download the source code of the repository with the following command.
(e.g.: ros_tutorials Package)

$ git clone https://github.com/ROBOTIS-GIT/ros_tutorials.git

➋ Download with a Web Browser

If you enter the address (https://github.com/ROBOTIS-GIT/ros_tutorials) on a web browser, you

will be connected to the GitHub repository. You can download the compressed file by clicking on
'Clone or download', then click on the 'Download ZIP' button in the upper right corner.

xiv
 Open Source Contents

Open Source Contents

The latest information about TurtleBot3, which is the official robot platform of ROS, used as course
material in this book can be found in the following public resources. You can build up your ROS
robot programming skills by exercising with these continuously updated open source software and
various examples of TurtleBot3.

≆≆ TurtleBot Homepage http://www.turtlebot.com

≆≆ TurtleBot3 Wiki Page http://turtlebot3.robotis.com

≆≆ TurtleBot3 Video https://www.youtube.com/c/ROBOTISOpenSourceTeam

In addition, the contents related to the OpenCR controller for building ROS embedded systems
covered in this book and OpenManipulator for learning manipulation are also available.
Information about Dynamixel, which is used as an actuator for TurtleBot3 and OpenManipulator,
and its required software of Dynamixel SDK and Dynamixel Workbench can also be found from
below links.

≆≆ OpenCR [http://emanual.robotis.com/] > [PARTS] > [Controller] > [OpenCR]

≆≆ OpenManipulator [http://emanual.robotis.com/] > [PLATFORM] > [OpenManipulator]

≆≆ Dynamixel SDK http://wiki.ros.org/dynamixel_sdk

[http://emanual.robotis.com/] > [SOFTWARE] > [DYNAMIXEL] > [Dynamixel SDK]

≆≆ Dynamixel Workbench http://wiki.ros.org/dynamixel_workbench

[http://emanual.robotis.com/] > [SOFTWARE] > [DYNAMIXEL] > [Dynamixel Workbench]

Lastly, there are materials that can be used as ROS study reference. It contains chapter-by-chapter
summaries as well as case examples that are very useful if used together with this book, for college
courses, group studies and seminars.

≆≆ Lecture Material https://github.com/ROBOTIS-GIT/ros_seminar

≆≆ Reference Material https://github.com/ROBOTIS-GIT/ros_book

≆≆ Source Code for Tutorials https://github.com/ROBOTIS-GIT/ros_tutorials

xv
Discovering Diverse Content Through
Random Scribd Documents
canary birds are amongst Europeans, to the inhabitants, who like to
hear their amorous chant.
“Their chirping would be irritable to the ears of persons trained to
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and the bridge scene in Sydney is enacted over again in his mind’s
eye. All but Angland and Miss Mundella are amusing themselves with
Glory’s little dog Fluffy, which is begging for cheese rind.
Lileth leans forward and softly speaks,—
“Your thoughts seem unpleasant ones, Mr. Angland. I trust that
the memory of any previous meeting, if we have met, is not
associated with them.”
Claude again regards the grand face turned towards him
observantly as he replies,—
 “I thought I recognized your voice. But I made a foolish mistake.
And to tell you the truth, the sound of your voice brought to my
mind some very unpleasant recollections. I see I have aroused your
interest. You will then pardon me if I explain under what
circumstances it was that I last heard a voice so much resembling
yours. I was assaulted in Sydney, a month or so ago, by two men
who attempted my destruction. One of them, forgive my saying so,
somewhat resembled you. But it was the tones of your voice, which
are exactly like his, that at first puzzled me.”
“You are certainly not very complimentary, Mr. Angland,” responds
Miss Mundella, smiling, without betraying in the least the agitation
which almost renders her incapable of playing her part; “but I
forgive you. And you must tell me, to-morrow, all about your
adventure with my badly behaved ‘doppel-ganger’ in Sydney. Come,
Glory!” she adds gaily to her cousin, as she rises to say “Good-
night.”
“We shall have to be up early to-morrow, if we are to meet the
Miss Chesters at the Red Billabong. Schlaf wohl!” And the two ladies
retire, leaving the men to wind up the evening with their cigars.

Midnight.

Of all the persons beneath the roof-tree of Murdaro head station

house during the first part of that night, Mr. Cummercropper was the
only one who was successful in wooing “the gentle sleep,” and it was
not till early morning that slumber slid upon the souls of the
remainder of the party.
For Claude, his host, and the two fair cousins, “each and severally”
have their excited brains full of a reeling panorama, called into
action by memory and thought, which it is far beyond the power of
slumber to extinguish.
Mr. Wilson Giles’s better feelings are fighting a losing battle with
the more selfish promptings of his nature, which are supported by
the heavy artillery of his niece’s arguments.
 The grateful memory of Dyesart’s kindness in the hour of need;
the evident affection and esteem—possibly the herald of a warmer
feeling—which his daughter evinces for young Angland; the risky
nature of the game that his niece urges him to continue; are all
arguments in favour of a laissez faire policy. But on the other side
there is the uncomfortable thought of losing the fruits of his life’s
labour,—the run that he has purchased with hardships innumerable;
with blood, murder, and selfishness. Moreover, Lileth knows too
much about his concerns now. Her thumb is turned downwards, and
the victim of the scheme must be sacrificed.
Giles groans as he thinks how much he hates his niece. He
conceives her to be a true Jew at heart,—remorseless and
unswerving in her purposes. And who knows better than he, Giles,
what Hebrews are. When his gay, wild-oat sowing youth was
beginning to wane, had he not felt the white, unforgiving but smiling
fangs of members of the race tearing at his throat? Ah! how well he
had retaliated upon the first of them who came within his power.
Giles rolls over in his bed as he chuckles a hard, dry gurgle of
laughter, as he calls to mind how he had schemed and schemed,
and, sacrificing his sister in his revenge, had married her to Lileth’s
father, with the successful intention of ruining him. But his
wandering thoughts always hark back to the same conclusion,—
Lileth must have her way.
Meanwhile, Claude in his room tumbles about restlessly, as he
thinks, alternately, of the strange likeness between the dark-eyed
lady he had met that evening and the assassin of the arches, and of
the fair-haired angel into the heaven of whose presence he had so
strangely ascended.
Two o’clock, ante-meridian, strikes the carriage clock in Glory
Giles’s bedroom, which adjoins that of Miss Mundella. And ere the
deep music of its coil-bell vibrations have faded in waves of dying
sweetness into silence, the charming occupant of the apartment is
wide awake.
 All is silent in the house, and the golden-haired maiden lies deeply
thinking within the cosy sanctum of her mosquito-curtained couch.
Glory had heard the last part of the conversation between Claude
and Lileth. It had, of course, considerably interested her. But it was
not till the young lady had entered into the quiet of her own room,
that she had thought of there being any connection between the
murderous attack upon her admirer in Sydney and the photograph
incident of the previous evening.
Glory remembers the promise of secrecy exacted from her by her
cousin Lileth,—whom she looks upon more in the light of a step-
mother than a girl-companion only a few years older than herself,—
and dreadful thoughts begin to shape themselves.
The merry little girlish brain is not given to much labour in the
tiresome direction of induction-drawing. But where female interest is
highly excited, there arises into being a more active means of
interpretation than that employed by the more stolid brain of the
male human when solving similar problems. This power—called by
men “jumping at a conclusion”—tells Claude’s inamorata hearer that
“her hero” is in danger at the hands of her dark-haired relative, now
slumbering in the next room.
Slumbering? No! For there is a light in there; and presently the
green-baize door, that opens from one bed-chamber to the other,
swings noiselessly backwards, and Miss Mundella appears holding a
lighted taper in her hands.
She wears her dark morning dress, and, after addressing Glory
softly, to ascertain if her cousin is awake, and receiving no answer,
she moves silently out of the apartment and down the passage.
An hour afterwards one of the station “boys” rides off with a letter
from the shadow of the quiet buildings.
This is the burly Cape York native called Carlo,—the executioner of
“Government House,”—and as he has been enjoined, by Miss
Mundella herself, to hurry over his appointed task, he is not likely to
tarry on the way.
 The mysterious rider’s iron-grey steed—one of the famous Satan’s
daughters—is pawing the ground as her rider, who has dismounted,
is fumbling at the fastenings of the home-paddock gate, which
opens on to the unfenced run, when he becomes aware of a white
figure approaching him.
The aboriginals are great believers in ghosts, and the black
horseman is about to fly in terror, when his marvellous powers of
sight—good almost in the darkness as a cat’s—tell him that it is the
“little Marmie-lady” (the master’s daughter) that is before him.
“Carlo!” exclaims Glory, in the breathless voice of one who has
been running, “do you know who I am?”
“Iss. Mine know um, allite, Missee Gorrie,” replies the “boy.”
“Well, then, tell me where you are going?”
“Oh! mine go look longer bullockie, Marmie. Plenty fellow
oberthrees sit down longer Bulla Bulla ’tation.”
The black means to inform Miss Giles, whom he submissively calls
Marmie, or Mistress, that he goes to look for a number of bullocks—
branded with the station mark of O B 3, which he calls “oberthree”—
which have wandered on to the next run.
“You tell big fellow lie, Carlo!” exclaims Glory excitedly. “You take
letter; you take book-a-book alonger station.”
Click, click, click! The black hears the ominous, metallic rattle of
the chambers of a revolver, as the fair hands thus emphasize the
demand that follows:—
“Miss Lileth give you book-a-book for Inspector Puttis. Give it to
me!”
The unfortunate native hesitates for a moment, not knowing
which way to retire from out of range of the two fires between which
he finds himself: the terrible retribution that will fall upon him if he
proves false to “Missee Lillie’s” orders threaten him on one flank; on
the other is the present danger of being shot if he does not
surrender what he had strict injunctions to deliver into the police-
officer’s own hands at Bulla Bulla station.
The native mind, till trained to think after the European fashion,
cares little for the morrow. So Carlo, wisely and quickly, decides to
escape the near danger, come what may afterwards, and holds out a
white envelope towards Glory beneath the faint starlight.
The little white fingers take the note; and, retiring a few yards so
as not to frighten the horse, a match is lit, and the “fair
highwayman” examines her plunder. Yes, it is the letter she wants.
“You sit down here, Carlo,” Glory says, “till I come back. If horse
want walk about, walk up and down,” waving her hand explainingly.
Then, giving the black a piece of money, she disappears. Ten
minutes afterwards Carlo has the letter returned to him by the “little
Marmie,” and is soon flying over the spear-grass plains in the
direction of the next station. Glory returns to her room, by means of
the open window, as she left it, and exhausted with her bold
adventure soon falls asleep.
If any sharp-eyed detective had, about this time, examined one of
the dining-room windows near to which Miss Mundella had written
her letter, he would have found a slightly greasy spot upon one of its
panes; and, if worthy of his noble profession, he would have been
led by a process of induction to surmise that this mark had been
caused by the nasal organ of some smallish person, who had been
engaged not long before in what may be correctly termed as “prying
into the room.”
 CHAPTER XV.
THE GHOST OF CHAMBER’S CREEK.

“’Mongst thousand dangers, and ten thousand magick mights.”

Faërie Queene.

EXT morning, when Claude wandered into

the supper-room of the previous night, he
found a couple of fat, comely young native
women, in short, light-coloured frocks,
relaying the cloth upon the table for a
second or late breakfast.
One of these girls on seeing Claude
toddles up to him, and explains, in the
ridiculous jargon she has been taught to
consider English, that Mr. Giles and the
young ladies have already partaken of
breakfast and gone out.
“Marmie bin go out longer Missie Lillie, um Missie Gory bin go
longer Marmie big fellow way.”
“What name?” she adds briefly, bringing her beautiful eyes and
smiling features to bear upon Claude with awkward suddenness as
she puts her question.
In reply Angland bashfully but carefully explains to the gins how
his name is usually pronounced by himself and friends; but the girls
only grin in return with their pearly rows of teeth, as if they are the
victims of suppressed mirth. They are evidently highly amused, and
even retail some joke to the diminutive Lucy, who, seeing that
something out of the ordinary is going on, has popped her little
black head in at the door to listen.
“What name, Marmie?” the smiling “lubras” repeat in chorus.
 Whilst Claude stands puzzling over the mystic meaning of the dark
fair ones before him, Mr. Cummercropper enters the room, and
nodding to our hero—and thereby losing his eyeglass for a few
seconds—proceeds to tediously deliver the same message Angland
has already received. Claude waits till the æsthetical station
storekeeper has finished, and then begs him to enlighten him as to
the meaning of the laughing girls.
“Ha! ha!” chuckles Mr. Cummercropper out of the depths of his
high collar. “Bai Joave! not bad, by any means. They don’t want to
know your name. Picked that much up long ago. ‘What name?’
means, in this part of the globe, ‘Which will you have, coffee, tea, or
cocoa, for breakfast?’ Don’t it, Dina?”
Dina grins a comprehensive smile, and nods her brilliantly
beturbaned head in reply to the query; and, obtaining a satisfactory
answer at last to her oft-repeated question, trots her buxom little
figure away into the kitchen. After breakfast Claude spends his
morning in trying to learn something of Billy; but he is almost
entirely unsuccessful, as the blacks about the station are strangely
reticent. The disappearance of his late uncle’s servant is very
annoying to Angland, and our young friend is really puzzled to know
what steps he had better take next. Claude has a lonely lunch, for
none of the station folk are yet returned, and Mr. Cummercropper
has descended from the art student to the “rational” storekeeper,
and has started off in a buggy and pair with a load of “rations” for a
far-off out-station; and then, getting a “boy” to fetch his horse in
from the paddock, he canters over to an out-station, where he left
his miner friend and the two boys the night before.
“Well, lad, thou hast not been successful in thy work,” says old
Williams, Claude’s digger companion as he observes that young
man’s disappointed face. “And that I were right to camp here I’ll
show ye. There’s nowt save ourselves here, for they’re out must’ring
‘weaners.’ So coome inside out of the sun, and I’ll tell thee news o’
Billy.”
 Claude watches his lively purchase, Joe, hobble the horse, and
then follows Williams into the two-roomed shanty, which is honoured
by the name of an “out-station house.” It is merely a roughly-built
hut, with walls of gum-tree slabs laid one upon another, and a roof
formed of sheets of brown gum-tree bark. The studs of the building,
also the rafters and purlieus, are ingeniously kept in position by
neatly fastened strips of “green hide” (raw leather), and the hard
grey floor and colossal chimney-place are composed of the remains
of a number of ant-hills that have been pounded up for the purpose.
The material of which these hills are built is a kind of papier mâché,
consisting of wood-fibre and clay, and is in much request amongst
northern settlers for various structural purposes. The termites, or
“white ants,” sometimes raise their many-coned mounds to a height
of from twelve to fifteen feet, and these “spires and steeples,” with
the absence of dead tree-stems upon the ground,—another sign of
the presence of these insects,—are two of the most characteristic
features of the open bush country of Northern Queensland.
Williams squats down on his hams, bush-fashion, in front of the
yawning fireplace, where a camp-oven, suspended over the grey
embers, is frizzling forth the vapoury flavour of “salt-junk,” and after
lighting his pipe proceeds to tell Claude what he has found out from
the stockmen. This, to condense the lengthened yarn of the old
miner, is just what Billy related of himself, in our presence, to the old
“hatter” Weevil in the lonely jungle cave.
“He’ll coome back here, I tell ye. For note ye, lad, he camped as
long as he could at Murdaro, till they made him clear.”
“Yes, I believe he was waiting there for me,” responds Claude.
“Now, mind ye,” continues the digger, gesticulating with his maize-
cob pipe, “mind ye make every nigger round know that yer wants to
find Billy, and ye’ll hear of him soon, like enough. Now the more ye
gets known here the safer fur ye, so wait here till the men get back.
Ye can pitch ’em a song after supper and ride home with the head
stock-keeper. He’ll be going up to ‘Government House’ to-night.
Moon rises ’bout nine.”
 Half an hour before sundown a dust cloud that has been slowly
travelling for the last two hours across the plain, in the direction of
the out-station, reaches its destination. It is now seen to be caused
by the feet of a small “mob” (herd) of cows and unbranded calves.
These, after much yelling and an accompanying—
“Running fire of stockwhips,
And a fiery run of hoofs,”

are at last forced down a funnel-shaped lane between two wide

fences, called “wings,” into the receiving yard of a large stockyard
near the house.
Not long afterwards the head stock-keeper and his two white
stockmen appear; and the former, after being introduced to Claude,
and having indulged in a very necessary wash, sets the example,
which is soon followed by the other men, of proceeding to work
upon the evening meal. This is placed upon the table by two dark-
skinned nymphs, whose airy costume consists chiefly of one old shirt
and a pair of smiles between them.
The position these girls occupy in an establishment where all are
bachelors may be guessed, and Claude learns, before the meal is
over, that they are under the “protection” of the white stockmen,
having been “run down” for this purpose some months previously.
“Run away!” laughs one of the stockmen, skilfully supplying his
mouth with gravy by means of his knife-blade, as he repeats a
question put to him by Angland before answering it. “Run away! No,
I rayther think as ’ow Nancy was the last gal as will ever try that
game agin. The black beggars know what they’ll get for trying the
speeling racket here. Short and sharp’s our motter on this here
station,” the speaker adds, as his savoury knife-point disappears half
down his gullet.
Upon Claude expressing a wish to hear about Nancy’s ultimate
fate, the men become reticent; but Claude learns afterwards on
good authority that the unfortunate girl was overtaken whilst
attempting to return to her tribe, and was flogged to death before
the other native station-hands, “pour encourager les autres.”
After the whites have done their meal, the black stockmen are
handed their “rations,” which consist of the broken viands from the
table, and such pieces of “junk” as have become tainted. The whole
amount does not seem very much for the eight “boys” after their
hard day’s work in the saddle, and when they have further sub-
divided it with their relatives at the black camp close by, their
earnings for the day must appear very small indeed.
Selfishness is unknown between relations amongst aborigines.
There is no meum et tuum. A hunter’s spoil or a “boy’s” earnings are
given away immediately upon his return to camp; and the individual
who has obtained the good things generally keeps less than his own
proper share, being complimented upon this by the women in a low
chant or grace during the eating or cooking of the food.
It seems probable, however, that if the right of purchasing their
liberty was permitted to the station blacks, and each “boy” was
allowed his peculium, as instituted by Justinian, the first anti-slavery
emperor of Rome, this unselfish division of each day’s wage would
soon become out of fashion. It is, perhaps, in order to encourage
this virtuous practice of their station slaves that the Australian
squatters have never followed the example set them by the ancient
Romans.
The head stock-keeper, whose name is Lythe, but who is generally
known upon the station as “the Squire,” is a very different kind of
man to his two stockmen. These individuals belong to a much lower
type of humanity, and are apparently without any education
whatever, save a superficial knowledge of horses and cattle.
Born of good parentage in an English “racing county,” Lythe is a
fair average sample of a certain class of men not very uncommon in
up-country Australia. Life’s chessboard has been with him an
alternating record of white, glowing triumphs, and black disgrace of
wild, feverish saturnalia and rough toiling at the hardest kinds of
colonial work. A wild boyhood, a wilder time at Sandhurst, a
meteoric existence as Cornet in a lance regiment,—with the
attendant scintilla of champagne suppers, racehorses, and
couturières,—and then he slipped on to a “black square” and
became a “rouseabout” on an Australian run. Presently he rises
again, by making for himself a bit of a name as a successful
“overlander” or cattle-drover, and, becoming rich, moves “on to the
white.” He is a squatter, takes up-country, loses all, and then
becomes an irreclaimable tippler. “Black square” again, and here he
is, working hard to “knock up” another cheque,—a well-educated,
useful member of society when free from liquor; a wild, quarrelsome
savage from the time he reaches the first “grog-shanty” on his way
“down south,” till he returns “dead broke” to “knock up another
cheque” at the station.
Claude’s hosts at the little out-station—who, like most Australian
colonists, are as hospitably minded as their means will allow them to
be—do all they can to render his visit to their rough home as
agreeable as possible. They even indulge him with a few bush
songs, whilst the after-supper pipe is being smoked. One of these,
sung in a voice gruff and husky with shouting to the cattle all day, to
the air of a well-known nautical ditty, is descriptive of the first
“taking up” of the Never Never Land, and has a taking chorus,
concluding thus:—
“Then sing, my boys, yo! ho!
O’er desert plains we go
To the far Barcoo,
Where they eat Ngardoo,
A thousand miles away.”

At nine o’clock “the Squire” and Claude say good-bye to the

others, and mounting their horses, which have been brought up to
the house across the dewy, moonlit pastures by a pair of attendant
sprites, proceed leisurely in the direction of the head-station.
Around the riders stretches the tranquil indigo and silver glory of a
marvellous phantasmagoria, painted by earth’s cold-faced satellite.
And accustomed to the softer beauties of a New Zealand moonlight
night, Claude cannot help exclaiming to his companion upon the
strange, phantom-like appearance that all the familiar objects
around him appear to have put on beneath the argent rays. Even
that most unpoetical object, the stockyard, where the imprisoned
cattle are roaring impatient of restraint, seems, with its horrid
carcase gallows, all dressed with a silvery, mystic robe of light, as if
transformed into a spectre castle, filled with moaning, long-horned
beings of another world.
“Yes, that is so,” returns Claude’s companion, when our young
friend has remarked the curious features of the scene before him.
“What you notice is just what is the chief characteristic of an
Australian moonlight scene. The only real poet Australia’s ever had
was Lindsay Gordon. He was an Englishman, by-the-bye, and he has
the same sort of weird touch running through all his poems. But it
isn’t so much to my mind,”—the speaker rubs his chin thoughtfully,
—“it isn’t that the moonlight is different here to what it is elsewhere,
I fancy, so much as it is that Nature herself puts on an outlandishly-
awful, God-forsaken, ghastly kind of rig-out, when left to herself in
these wilds.”
“That’s very true,” responds Claude, looking at the dreary scene of
broken sandstone cliff and dead forest through which their horses
are picking their way.
“Now, really, Mr. Angland, what a devilish nightmare of a place this
‘outside’ country is. Look at those ghostly, white-stemmed gums.
I’ve heard those trees groan like dying men when there was hardly a
breath of air moving. Why, there! you can hear them for yourself
now. And, like all their kind, at midday they cast no shadow; and
therefore might well be considered bewitched, if we went by the old
standard of ancient European justice, that considered this
infringement of the natural laws the very earmark of Satan’s cattle.
Look at our deserts, our old volcanoes, our fishes that run about on
the shore like mice, our rivers of sand, and—but we need not go
farther than our wild animals. What artist—Griset, Doré, or any one
else—ever conceived a more impish brute than the dingo, or a more
startling caricature of a deer with grasshopper’s legs than we find in
the kangaroo?”
The dree wail of some neighbouring dingoes upon the distant hills
comes as a sort of unearthly murmur of acquiescence, as the
speaker closes his remarks.
“Why, really,” remarks Claude, laughing quietly, “now that you
point it out, there is really something curiously nightmare-like about
Australian nature.” He adds after a pause, “You would be a grand
hand at telling a ghost story.”
The two men canter over a smooth piece of country in silence;
and when their horses have again come within easy speaking
distance, “the Squire” asks Claude if he would like to hear a ghost
yarn.
“I’m touchy, rather,” goes on “the Squire,” “on the subject of this
the only ghost that I have ever seen; and I give you warning you
mustn’t scoff at me for believing in it. I haven’t told any one about it
since,—well, it don’t matter when. You’re not in a hurry to get to the
station, I suppose?”
“Oh, the yarn, by all possible means!” assents Claude.
But his companion does not hear the reply to his question, for as
he loosens the flood-gates of his memory there rushes vividly before
his mind a long-forgotten scene, like a weird picture from a magic
lantern, shutting out all external things,—a scene of moonlit rock
and dark, gloomy trees, of sleeping cattle, of wild and awful
midnight terror.
But it is only for an instant. Then he pulls himself together, and
half unconsciously lifts his hand to wipe away the cold dew that even
the memory of that fearful night has called forth upon his brow.
“You must know then,” commences “the Squire,” after the manner
of Master Tommie in “Sandford and Merton,” “that, like most new
chums in Australia, I wandered about a good deal over this great,
sunburnt island before ever I settled down as head stock-keeper at
Murdaro. During part of that time I followed the calling of an
overlander. An ‘overlander,’ Mr. Angland,—for, as you haven’t any of
the breed in New Zealand, I’ll explain what that is,—is Queensland-
English for a long-distance drover; and a rough, hard life it generally
is. Cattle have to be taken long distances to market sometimes from
these ‘up-country’ runs. I have taken several mobs of ‘fats’ (fat
bullocks) from the Never Never Land to Sydney,—a distance of about
fifteen hundred miles.
“Now, when my story begins I was ‘boss’ of a road-party taking fat
cattle down to Sydney from Contolbin station on the Lachlan. In fine
weather, when there’s plenty of grass or herbage, and water every
twenty miles or so, a drover has rather a jolly time of it, after he’s
trained the cattle to camp properly, take it altogether: an open-air
life, with just enough exercise to make him enjoy his ‘tucker’ (food).
But, like most lines of life, there are more bitters than sweets
connected with the ‘overlanding’ profession. Sometimes there’s no
water for forty, fifty, perhaps ninety miles at a stretch,—for instance,
on the Birdsville and Kopperamana track,—and keeping awake for
days and nights together, you must push on (with the sun at 120° in
the shade, sometimes) taking your cattle, at their own pace, along
the Parakelia-covered sand-hills till the next water-hole is reached.
And at other times there is too much water, and it is a case of
swimming rivers every few miles, or else sitting down for a stream to
run by for a few weeks,—riding through mud, sleeping on mud,
drinking mud, and eating it too, for the matter of that, for weeks at
a time. I’ve done that at the Wyndham crossing of the Cooper more
than once. But on the particular trip I am going to refer to, the
weather was more what you, as an Englishman, will understand
better than most Australians, for it had been snowing hard for
several nights in succession upon the Swollowie Mountains, over
which our road, from Orange to Bathhurst, lay, and the air was
almost as cold and chilly as it ever is in the old country.
“I never shall forget the sight that poor old Sanko, one of my
native boys, was when he came off the middle watch, the first night
we reached the high country. Sanko was a ‘white-haired boy’ when
he came off watch to call me that morning, and no mistake about it,
although his waving locks and beard had been as black as night the
day before.
“No, Mr. Angland, he hadn’t seen a ghost! You’re a bit too fast.
“But he had seen something strange to him, and that was a fall of
snow. And when he poked his head in at the door of the ‘fly’ (tent)
and called me, his good-humoured, hairy face was white with snow
crystals. He really gave me a kind of ‘skeer,’ as our American cousins
call it, for a moment. He looked like the apparition of some one I
had known in life. I thought I was dreaming at first; and I had had
fever a little while before, and was still rather weak from its effects. I
mention this because the scare Sanko gave me may have made a
more lasting impression upon me than I thought at the time, and
had something to do with what happened the next night. All I did at
the time, however, was to tell Sanko not to call the next watch, as
the cattle would not shift in the snow. And rolling myself up in my
blankets, I was soon asleep again.
“One of the greatest hardships of cattle droving is the watching
necessary at night. All sorts of things may occur to frighten them;
and when that does happen, off they rush, a resistless flood of mad
animals, into the darkness, breaking each other’s necks and legs,
and the remainder getting lost. Cows that want to return to where
they dropped a calf will sometimes start a mob. The cunning brutes
will watch you as you ride past them on your ‘night horse’ on your
way round the mob, and then slink off into the shadows, and be
miles back along the track by daylight. A thunderstorm is also a
frightful cause of mobs stampeding. But the worst thing to be
dreaded by the drover is a deliberate attempt to frighten the cattle
by cattle-thieves, or ‘duffers,’ as we call them, who used in my time
—there’s little of it done now, I believe—sometimes to steal the
larger part of a travelling herd by this means. Well, the plan of these
midnight robbers is to watch till your horses have wandered a bit
from the camp, and then, getting amongst them, slip their hobbles
and drive them quietly away. Then, knowing you can do nothing to
stop them, the rascals proceed to startle the cattle by shouting, a
gun-shot, or some such means; and you are lucky if you get half
your horses, let alone half your cattle, back again.
“It is necessary to tell you all this in order that you may
understand my ghost tale.
“These mountains we were coming to, as I knew, had been the
scene of several exploits of this kind, and it made me anxious to get
through by daylight. There was a very rough lot of Cornish miners
working on the hills, in the Icely goldmines; and, rightly or wrongly,
we drovers mostly used to put these midnight stampedes down to
these ‘Cousin Jacks.’ But some of the older cattle-men upon the
road, and all the inhabitants of the (then) sparsely peopled district,
declared that these occurrences were due to no human interference.
They said that the gorge in the mountains, that I should have to
pass through to-morrow with my cattle, was haunted by the spirit of
a murdered man, whose corpse was ‘planted’ where he had fallen
many years since, with the knife of a treacherous mate still sticking
in his ribs. It was this deceased gentleman’s nightly constitutionals
that were supposed to account for the various disastrous rushes of
mobs of cattle in the mountain glen during past years. I had often
heard it used as an argument, in favour of those who upheld the
spectre-theory, that the camp horses had been found still hobbled
after these rushes,—an oversight of which no experienced ‘cattle-
duffer’ would be guilty. Well, I felt rather anxious about the matter,
but as I had arranged my stages so as to camp at the foot of the
ranges that night, I thought I should be able to push on over the
fatal pass before the next sun went down.
“You may imagine my annoyance then, on the morning when
Sanko poked his ‘frosty paw’ into my tent, to discover that the snow
would delay our progress for some hours. The creeks would be ‘big’
till midday, and there were several reasons why I could not camp
another night where I was. I determined, therefore, to push on and
try my luck.
 “The sun blazed out, and the white, patchwork mantle on the
blue-grey hills disappeared as if by magic. But the Fates were
against us. First our horses did not turn up till late; then the cows
we had with us kept on getting bogged in the muddy billabongs, and
had to be hauled out. And what with one delay and another, I saw
the sunset redden the cliffs before us as we crossed Chamber’s
Creek and entered the pass, and knew that I must camp my cattle
there for the night, and no help for it.
“Leaving my men to bring on the cattle and horses, I pricked my
spurs into my steed’s sides, and made him scramble up the stony
track; and, after half an hour’s search, found a good place to camp
the cattle in a narrow part of the gorge, between two cliffs of
gnarled and distorted rock. There was plenty of long grass, and the
melting snow had left puddles of water all round amongst the rocks,
that in the evening light looked like so many pools of blood.
“Soon the cattle arrived, and I was glad to see that, tired with
their scramble up the mountain-side, they were evidently contented
with their camp, and seemed likely to remain quiet all night.
“‘Not so bad after all,’ I said to myself, as I rode back to our
campfire, after seeing the cattle safely put on camp.
“But the words were hardly out of my mouth when I noticed, in
the twilight, a little fence of rough-split shingles, up against the cliff,
exactly opposite the cattle. It was the grave of the murdered man. I
knew it from having had it so often described to me. We must be
then located exactly on the spot where, six years before, a mob of
cattle had suddenly been seized with maddening terror, and
stampeding over the drover’s camp, killing two men in their wild
rush, had been lost entirely from that day to this.
“Well, there was no help for it, so I turned my horse’s head from
the solitary corner in the rocks and rode on towards our fire. Was it
fancy or what? I know not, but as I left the grave behind me I heard
a sound like a low moan. It was followed by a low, plaintive cry
overhead, in the air.
 “‘Well, this is a creepy kind of place,’ I thought to myself, ‘but I
won’t tell the other fellows my fears, but just double the watches to-
night.’
“I saw at a glance, however, on reaching the camp, that my four
white companions had evidently learned of the close proximity of the
grave, and knew the history connected with it. And the black ‘boys’
had, contrary to custom, made their fire close to ours, a change that
I thought it policy not to notice.
“‘Now then, Sanko,’ said I to that worthy, after supper, ‘you and
Merrilie sit down alonger yarraman (horses) till I come.’
“The two ‘boys’ went off unwillingly enough,—another unusual
thing that I, also, pretended not to observe. Then, knowing that no
one would attempt to interfere with the cattle for an hour or two, I
lay down by the blazing mulga-branches for a short nap, before
sitting up for the rest of the night.
“I had not been asleep ten minutes, I suppose, before I woke to
find Sanko tumbling off his horse by my side in his hurry to speak to
me, and could see he was in a great state of terror about something.
“‘Mine no like it sit down longer horses,’ he grumbled, gaspingly,—
his eyes rolling excitedly, as he turned his head right and left over
his shoulders, as if in fear of something behind him. ‘Too much the
devil-devil all about. Him yabba-yabba, and make it the walk about
longer minga (grave) longer white beggar. Mine no like um.’
“I saw that it would be useless to try and get him to go back
alone, and there was evidently something that required watching. I,
therefore, sent all the whites and blacks off to guard the horses,
keeping one of the former with me to mind the cattle. Telling the
latter to follow me ‘when he was girthed-up,’ I left him by the fire,
and commenced to ride slowly round the cattle, who were mostly
lying down and contentedly chewing their cud-suppers. The silver
light of a true Australian Alpine starlit night made the bare cliffs
above stand out on either hand with an almost phosphorescent
contrast to the dark indigo shadows at their feet. One could almost
imagine that the rugged rocks had absorbed a certain amount of
sunlight during the preceding day, and were now themselves light-
giving in a small degree,—after the fashion of those life-buoys that
I’m told they cover now with a sort of luminous paint. The light of
our camp-fire warmed to colour a few projecting rocks and the
trunks of the smooth, white-stemmed gums, and now and then the
soft, purring sound of far-off falling water came up the glen; no
other sound but from the chewing cattle, and all was quiet so far.
“Suddenly my horse stopped short, with outstretched neck and
pricked ears; then suddenly wheeling round would have dashed into
the middle of the cattle, if I had not checked him in time. I could not
see anything to frighten him, and the cattle were not alarmed; they,
happily, apparently saw nothing strange. Then I noticed that we
were close to the grave. It was in deep shadow, but I could not look
at it comfortably over my shoulder, and, do what I could, my
trembling night-horse would not face in that direction.
“There was nothing for it; so, as I could not finish my patrol in
that direction, I turned and rode round the cattle the other way. By
the fire, on my return to the camp, I found my fellow-watcher
Charley.
“‘Look here, boss,’ he said excitedly, ‘there’s some beggar trying to
duff the cattle, and make them string this way, so I thought I’d wait
here till you returned.’
“‘Did you see any one?’ I asked.
“‘Well, I believe as how I did; but this moke got that skeered, and
well—I didn’t know how many there might be, and——’
“It was no time to expostulate with Charley for his cowardice and
negligence, so simply saying ‘Follow me!’ I turned and rode towards
the grave. The place seemed awfully weird in the starlight, and you
could make out little besides the white-backed cattle here and there
amongst the shadowy trees, and the great pile of rocks towering
upwards on either hand. The air was very cold and my feet felt dead
against the icy stirrup-irons. As before, I could not get my horse to
pass in front of the grave; that was now in such deep shadow that
nought of it could be seen.
“Charley’s horse would not come so near as mine, and both of
them trembled and snorted with terror; and every moment tried to
wheel round and escape from the awful Something that they were
watching.
“We sat in our saddles and listened, but there were no sounds but
from the reposing cattle, and the squeaking, here and there, of the
branches overhead, rubbing one upon another, as a passing breeze
swept sighing by.
“Presently the horses became less excited; then, for the first time
that night, I was able to get my animal past the grave. I rode round
the cattle followed by Charley.
“‘You’re right, there are duffers about,’ I said; and, telling him to
keep a sharp look-out till I returned, I hurried off, as fast as the
darkness would allow, and, finding the men looking after the horses,
presently returned with one of them. We all watched together for an
hour; and then hearing nothing I ‘turned in,’ telling the men to call
me when the morning star rose. They did so, and fearfully cold it
was when I turned out. I was very glad to hear the watchers report
that nothing had happened to disturb the cattle.
“‘Them blessed duffers hev found as ’ow we’re too wide awake fur
em,’ said one of the men,—who, I found out afterwards, had slept
nearly all through his watch.
“I felt now that the risk of losing my cattle was over for that night,
at any rate, and, mounting, rode down to them. Nothing disturbed
the first part of my lonely watch; and I rode round the cattle more
asleep than awake, I confess, for half an hour or so, when my steed,
this time a very steady old night-horse, suddenly showed signs of
uneasiness, and I found we were by the grave again.
“I pulled up, and, sitting firm with both hands on the reins and
head thrust forward, listened intently. The pale light of the morning
star was creeping over the face of the tall rocks. Its light would soon