Everything after an hour remained quiet; the cattle had long since been rushed off the island, and the Blacks, we supposed, had gone to rest, preparatory to an attack at daybreak. Towards dawn, being faint and weak through anxiety and fasting,—for we had had nothing for twenty-four hours,—we determined on having some tea; but before it could be got ready we again heard the Blacks yelling most furiously. The stockman and hutkeeper thereupon gave it as their opinion, that our only hope of escape was in immediately quitting the hut, and attempting, if possible, to get across to Barratta; so, instantly decamping, we crossed the lagoon in a canoe, which we then dragged across a few hundred yards of land to the river. This we also quickly crossed. Just as we reached the Barratta bank, we heard a most awful hullabaloo at Wirrai, in which noises our friends the Blacks were giving vent to their feelings of disgust and disappointment at not finding us at home. Before they could overtake us, we were safe at Barratta. “To be continued in our next,” as the Editors of periodicals often say. In a Second Letter the Narrative is resumed. I could see plainly depicted in the faces of the two men who were in charge of the Barratta station, a considerable degree of suspicion as to the extent of our courage in the Wirrai affair. They were both plucky men, but their notions underwent a great change the next day. The day we escaped, we heard nothing more of the natives, except now and then their distant yells; so I sent up a man on horseback to the next station for assistance, to help us to find and recover the cattle. But the superintendent either would not or could not give us any, although all his servants, to a man, volunteered to go. I was obliged, therefore, to allow my four men to proceed alone. I think I mentioned that I had burned my foot very severely, and by this time, from the work I had had to undergo, I was in great agony from it. But I offered the men, if any one of them objected to it, he could remain in the hut, and I would go in his place. They all, however, readily agreed to go, for, in truth, remaining behind was by far the most dangerous post, inasmuch as the Blacks, from their numbers, could easily circumvent the men, or keep them at bay, while they attacked the hut, and I could have done little myself, in the way of defence, with only an old lockless piece, to discharge which it was necessary to use a fire-stick. Before they left, the stockman took me aside, and, with much kindness, implored me earnestly, for my own safety, to take a horse, and stop out on the plain. He told me, at the same time, that he did not expect to come back alive; “but,” said he, “it does not matter a straw what becomes of us, for not one of us would be missed.” This disinterestedness struck me not a little, as showing a high trait of fine feeling, coming as it did from an old convict who had been transported for life, and had once been