The
camp was in darkness, save for the glow of the fires and the light of
the stars, which shine with a wonderful brilliancy in these southern
skies. The cry of some night bird came from the bush beyond the camp.
All else was still, but a crouching form at the entrance to the gunyah
warned me I was a prisoner. There was no need, however, to set a guard
upon me, for without a guide I knew I could never reach the coast, so
that even if I succeeded in making my escape from the savages, I must
perish miserably in the bush.
My thoughts now turned to home and friends whom it seemed unlikely I
would ever meet again. Dirk Hartog and the crew of the "Endraght",
though rough as became the hardy lives they led, had always shown a
kindly disposition toward me. They would miss me, and speak of me
perhaps, until, in the changing events of their adventurous career, I
would be forgotten. My parents also would mourn me as dead. But there
was one at Urk who would miss me more than friends or parents; Anna
Holstein, to whom I had plighted my troth, and to whom I looked to be
wed on my return. Anna was above me in station as the world goes. Her
father was the Governor of Urk, who would not willingly give his
daughter in marriage to a poor lad such its I.
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