TO PARADISE AND BACK
"He on honey-dew hath fed
And drunk the milk of Paradise."
COLERIDGE.
A gaunt old man with grizzled head, shrunk shanks, and a crooked arm was
the most timid of the strange mob of blacks who, under the guidance of
some semi-civilised friends, visited the clearing of a settler on one of
the rivers flowing into Rockingham, Bay. Shy and suspicious, his
friends had difficulty in reassuring him of the peace-loving character
of the settler, whose hut stood in the midst of an orange-grove. In a few
days, for no disturbing element existed, the nervousness of the old
man in the presence of his host ceased, and it was then noticed that
those who had accompanied him from the jungle-covered mountains, as well
as the friends he had picked up near the home of the white man, paid him
the rare compliment of deference. Well they might, for he was a man of
importance, though he lacked clothing, and the elements of decency. The
old man's friends--perhaps because of his semi-helplessness, due to the
twisted limb--performed various friendly offices for him, and never
thought of the spice of any dread avowal, for he was far superior to
them all, and righteously was he honoured. The lean Old Man had visited
that "undiscovered country from whose bourne no traveller returns."
There was no doubt of his actual presence in this. There were his young
wife and several companions, male and female, ready to corroborate his
story; and was not his crippled arm painful but unimpeachable testimony
to the reality of his experiences?
In the telling of the history of a too brief sojourn in the paradise of
the blacks the old man took but little part, for his English was NIL.
The members of the party knew it by rote, and some of them could make
themselves understood. Pieced together--for the story came out bit by
bit--it ran thus:
A very long time ago, when the Old Man was young and lusty and the
"King" of the tribe, an evil-minded "boy" made great rains. All the
rivers overflowed their banks, the palm and tea tree swamps became
impassable, the hollows between the hills were filled with water. Week
after week it rained continuously, the floods gradually hemming in the
camp and restricting the wanderings of the men to one long ridge of
forest country. Soon all the food obtainable within such narrow limits
was eaten. Every one became hungry, for the camp was large and its daily
necessities considerable. Patiently they waited for the subsidence of the
waters, but more rain came and the camp grew hungrier than ever. Many sat
in their shelters and drank water copiously, thereby creating a temporary
sensation of satisfaction.
In the midst of the adversity the Old Man remembered having seen a "bees'
nest" up a gigantic tree some distance away. He had not climbed the tree
offhand because the feat seemed to be impossible. What might have been
just possible on a well-filled stomach was worth hazarding now that he
was famishing. So, wading and swimming, he gained the little dry knoll
in the centre of which stood an enormous bean-tree, and there, a long way
up, was the "bees' nest." With a piece of cane from a creeping palm and
a stone tomahawk he slowly ascended the tree, for he was weak and his
nerves unstrung. But he joyed when he reached the "bees' nest," for it
was large and full of honey and brood comb--a feast in prospect for the
whole camp. Then, as he set to work to chop out the comb, he heard, to
his astonishment, voices below, and peering down, saw not only a wife who
had departed to the land of spirits a year or so before, but his own
mother, who had died when he was a youth. Greeting him in glad tones,
they told him to come down, and that they would show him a big camp in
good dry country where there was abundance of food.
Descending the tree with the cane loop, he saw that his previous wife was
well favoured and fat, that his mother, too, was portly, that they had
dilly-bags crammed with tokens of material wealth. They were overjoyed
to see him, but expressed wonder that he was so weak when so much good
food was available. Saying but little, they struck out for the big
camp. The Old Man noticed, as they walked, that a track through the
thickest part of the jungle opened up--a beaten, straight track, which
he, for all his wanderings, had never before seen. The country was dry,
too. Scrub hens and scrub turkeys, cassowaries, wallabies, huge carpet
snakes, pigeons, fruits and nuts, bees' nests, and decayed trees full of
great white grubs were there in plenty.
Silently and swiftly the three passed along the track through a country
which, at every step, became more desirable, and at last emerged on an
immense pocket where there was a concourse of gunyahs from which the
smoke curled up, and in every gunyah was abundance. Some of the young men
were throwing sportful boomerangs and spears; large parties were so
absorbed in the pleasure of corroboreeing that no notice was taken of the
new-comer. The advent of strangers was too common an occurrence to
distract them from unconfined joys. Such a scene, so different from
the forlorn, starving, water-beleaguered camp over which the sullen
despair brooded, mystified and gladdened.
The cup of happiness overflowed when, conducted through merry throngs to
a particular spot, the Old Man was greeted by relations and friends for
whom he had once duly mourned, plastering his face with ceremonious
charcoal and clay, and denying himself needed food. Yet were they not
here, alive, and in the enjoyment of every good thing? It was almost
beyond comprehension. Was he not to credit the evidences of his own
senses? Was not the food they pressed on him most pleasant to the taste?
All the privations due to the flood were talked of familiarly. The scene
of plenty was so close to the famine-stricken camp that the Old Man found
himself wondering why it had not been found before. Now he knew the
spot, and would in due time guide his starving friends hither and make
one great camp, where all would live in undreamt-of ease, unrealisable
superfluity of food.
For three days he dwelt in the good land with content, lionised by his
relatives, taking part in the hunts, the feasts, the corroborees, and
being urged never to return to the camp of floods and hunger. Here was
bliss. Every wish amply gratified, who would willingly depart from so
entrancing a place? And with fervent promises on his lips never to go
away he was conscious of a sharp pain in his wrist and found himself
crumpled up, stiff, sore, hungry, and helpless, at the foot of the big
tree.
Reluctantly back in the land of stress and distress, so woefully weak
that he could not stand without swaying, while his right hand dangled
helplessly, confused sounds of Paradise still rang in his ears,
verifying all that had recently befallen.
He gazed around, dismayed to see no trace of his wife or mother; no
clean-cut, straight path leading to the land of pure delight. Far up the
tree hung the cane loop; beside him lay the stone tomahawk. All present
realities were of pain and hunger. Bewildered, slowly and with much
difficulty, he made his way to the flooded camp, noticing as he went that
water-courses he had been compelled to swim were now fordable--proof of
the lapse of time.
Eyes starved to impassiveness stared at the gaunt, crippled creature,
complaining mutely, for no food had been brought. Some muttered that he
had eaten it all during his unaccounted absence.
Silently the old man bound up his wrist excruciatingly tight with strips
of bark, and then in detail told of his glad sojourn in Paradise.
Then the faces of the famishing lit up with joyous expectancy
and--impatient, reckless, heedless of floods, forgetful of weakness born
of hunger--one and all hastened to the scene whence began the straight
path to the enchanting land. But keen as the best trackers might be, not
the least sign in proof of the Old Man's experiences could be found.
The impassive wall of jungle which had opened so agreeably to the Old Man
offered no obstacles to the enthusiastic searchers for Paradise. Far and
wide, among slim palms standing waist deep in sullen brown water; across
flooded creeks and rivers; over hills and mountains; up gloomy gorges
into which none had ever before dared to venture, elated, they hastened
day after day, glorious enterprise investing them with hardihood and
courage. Ardently, hopefully, each vying with the other--for had not the
Old Man proved beyond inglorious doubt the nearness and perfection of
Paradise?--they pushed the quest far and beyond the limits of their own
small province, and in vain, for they were not of the elect, however
loyal and eager.
Years have elapsed, but the Old Man and his friends have not lost faith
in the existence locally of the Happy Land. Had he not been hither, led
by wife and mother, and did he not remain there three days--the only days
of unimpeded joy in his long life? No such rich privilege had ever
befallen any one else; but without questioning or envy all verify his
words and delight to do him honour.