The next day he managed to sell all the remains of his property, and made a bargain with the owner of a small coasting-vessel to convey him and his wife (whom he was compelled to take with him) to Swan River, where he arrived in due course of time, and managed to locate himself at Skibbereen, where he built a hut, cultivated several acres of land, and became quite a reformed character. Although his landlord, Mr. O'Driscoll, was his countryman, Mike managed to blarney him so that he did just what he liked, and never paid any rent either in cash or in kind. His yearning desire had been to live at Skibbereen, and now that he had attained his object he was (wonderful to say) contented and happy. He frequently came to Perth for the sake of a little chat with the storekeepers and the gentry, and as he was sure to blarney some one into giving him a dinner, he always returned home light of heart and unimpaired in pocket. But alas! poor Mike was not destined to die in peace at Skibbereen. A large party of the natives had suddenly attacked the abode of a neighbouring settler, and put the owner to death. Michael Blake and two of his friends, without waiting for other assistance, hastened to the rescue, imperfectly armed. They were overpowered in an instant. Blake and one of his companions fell pierced with many spears, whilst the other, being on horseback, escaped, carrying with him four spears fixed in his body. Years afterwards, one of the natives who had assisted at the slaughter coolly related the particulars of the death of Michael Blake. When he was lying on the ground, said this man, he turned round, and supporting himself on his arm, entreated for mercy in the most moving terms. The savages stood round him, looking on, and listening patiently to his address. "Did you show him mercy?" asked my informant. "No!" replied the savage, with calm indifference. "What did you do?" "We cut his tongue out." "Wretch! what for?" "He wongee (chattered) too much." Poor Mike! his blarney could not save him; it had often before done him good service, but the savages valued it not. CHAPTER 13. WILD CATTLE HUNTING. Having received intelligence that a numerous herd of wild cattle had lately been seen grazing upon some extensive plains a day's journey south of Perth, I got up a party with the intention of hunting them. Our preparations were made the day before starting on the expedition. A bullock-cart was loaded with fire-arms, kegs of brandy, various kinds of provisions, and cloaks and blankets. A couple of natives had been engaged to act as guides, and these, with their wives and families, spent the greater part of the day lounging about my premises, idly inspecting the arrangements, and sleeping in the sunshine, lazy as the pigs, which they surpassed in filth. In the afternoon, taking with them a supply of flour, they commenced their journey, intending to sleep upon the road, and leave us to overtake them on the following day.