Sturt’s thoughts now turned towards the junction of the Darling, and at last he sighted a deserted camp on which the huts resembled those he had seen on that river.  On the 23rd of January they came upon the junction at a very critical moment.  A line of magnificently-foliaged trees came into view, among which was perceived a large gathering of blacks, who apparently were inclined to be hostile.  Sturt, who was at the helm, was steering straight for them and made the customary signs of peace.  Just before it was too late to avoid a collision, Sturt marked hostility in their quivering limbs and battle-lusting eyes.  He instantly put the helm a-starboard, and the boat sheered down the reach, the baffled natives running and yelling defiantly along the bank.  The river, however, was shoaling rapidly, and from the opposite side there projected a sand-spit; on each side of this narrow passage infuriated blacks had gathered, and there was no mistaking their intentions.  Sturt gave orders to his men as to their behaviour, and held himself ready to give the battle-signal by shooting the most active and forward of their adversaries.

Mention has been made of a small party of blacks who had been interested in the shooting of a rapid by the boat’s crew.  Four of these savages had camped with the explorers the preceding night, leaving at daylight in the morning.  Sturt imagined that they had gone ahead as peace delegates, and he was thus most anxious to avoid a fight.  But the life of the whole party depended on prompt action being taken, and Sturt’s eye was on the leader and his finger on the trigger when “my purpose,” he says “was checked by MacLeay, who called to me that another party of blacks had made their appearance on the left bank of the river.  Turning round, I observed four men at the top of their speed.”  These were the dusky delegates, and the description given by Sturt of the conduct of the man who saved the situation is very graphic:—­

[Illustration.  Junction of the Darling and Murray Rivers.]

“The foremost of them, as soon as he got ahead of the boat, threw himself from a considerable height into the water.  He struggled across the channel to the sand-bank, and in an incredibly short space of time stood in front of the savage against whom my aim had been directed.  Seizing him by the throat, he pushed him backwards, and forcing all who were in the water on the bank, he trod its margin with a vehemence and an agitation that was exceedingly striking.  At one moment pointing to the boat, at another shaking his clenched hand in the faces of the most forward, and stamping with passion on the sand, his voice, that was at first distinct, was lost in hoarse murmurs.”

This episode, unequalled in the traditions of the Australian aborigines, removed the imminent danger; and Sturt’s tact, in a few moments changed the hundreds of demented demons into a pack of laughing, curious children, an easy and common transition with the savage nature.  But for the intervention of this noble chief, Sturt and his followers, penned within the boat in shallow water, would have been massacred without a chance to defend themselves.  Surrounded as they were by six hundred stalwart foes, their fate, save from unreliable native tradition, would never have been known to their countrymen.