Wild landscape on the Upper Herbert—_Kvingan_, the devil of the
blacks—A fatal eel—Mourning dress—Flight of the blacks—A
compromise—Christmas Eve—Lonely—Christmas fare—A “faithful”
relative—A welcome wallaby.
The season was already so far advanced that it was out of the question
to get back to my headquarters before Christmas. The new “land,” which
we reached after a short time, presented a grand, wild, and romantic
aspect. We descended from the table-land and suddenly got sight of
Herbert river, flowing dark and restless far down in the depths below.
We followed the bend of the river to the east, walking on a ledge of the
steep mountain nearly a thousand feet above the level of the water.
Below us the mountain presented a wild, broken mass, while above it was
overgrown with dense scrubs. Near the chief bend of the river we made
our camp by the side of a mountain brook which plunged down over the
precipice. It was no easy matter to find a place for a camp here, for it
was a spot on which a person could scarcely lie in a horizontal
position.
The natives had some strange superstitions in regard to this place. In
the depths below dwelt a monster, _Yamina_, which ate men, and of which
the natives stood in mortal fear. No one dared to sleep down there.
Blacks who had attempted to do so had been eaten, and once, when a dance
had been held there, some persons had been lost. I proposed to take a
walk thither, but they simply shrugged their shoulders and did not
answer. A gun would be of no use they said, for the monster was
invulnerable.
It was _Kvingan_, their evil spirit, who chiefly haunted this spot. His
voice was often heard of an evening or at night from the abyss or from
the scrubs. I made the discovery that the strange melancholy voice which
they attributed to the spirit belonged to a bird which could be heard at
a very great distance. But I must admit that it is the most mysterious
bird’s voice that I have ever heard, and it is not strange that a people
so savage as the Australian natives should have formed superstitious
notions in regard to it. _Kvingan_ is found in the most inaccessible
mountain regions, and I have heard it not only here but also in the
adjoining districts. During these moonlight nights I tried several times
to induce the natives to go with me to shoot the bird, but it was, of
course, blasphemous to propose such a thing, and their consent was out
of the question.
At other times, when they spoke of their evil spirit, I found that it
manifested itself in a cicada. Their notions in regard to their evil
spirit appeared to be very much confused. This insect, the cicada,
produces in the summer a very shrill sound in the tree-tops, but it is
impossible to discover it by the sound. It is this loud shrill sound,
which comes from every direction, and which is not to be traced to any
particular place, that has evidently given rise to superstitious ideas
concerning it.
In the south-eastern part of Australia the evil spirit of the natives is
called _Bunjup_, a monster which is believed to dwell in the lakes. It
has of late been supposed that this is a mammal of considerable size
that has not yet been discovered. It may be added that the devil in
various parts of Australia is described as a monster with countless eyes
and ears, so that he is able to see and hear in all directions. He has
sharp claws, and can run so fast that it is difficult to escape him. He
is cruel, and spares no one either young or old. The reason that the
natives so frequently move their camp is, no doubt, owing to the fact
that they are anxious to avoid the devil, who constantly discovers where
they are. At times he is supposed to reveal himself to the older and
more experienced men in the tribe, who accordingly are highly esteemed.
The natives on the Gulf of Carpentaria say that the devil’s lips are
fastened by a string to his forehead.
With the exception of the instance already described,[12] I never heard
of any effort being made by the natives to propitiate the wrath of this
evil being. They simply have a superstitious fear of it and of the
unknown generally.
Footnote 12:
Page 136.
[Illustration:
YELLOW NECKLACE WORN BY THE BLACKS AS AN EMBLEM OF MOURNING.
]
We searched the scrubs in the vicinity thoroughly, and found many traces
of boongary in the trees, but they were all old. The animal had been
exterminated by the natives. It could be hunted more easily here, for
the reason that the lawyer-palm is rare, and consequently the woods are
less dense. The natives told me that their “old men” in former times had
killed many boongary in these woods on the table-land.
Two of my men brought to the camp a very large eel, about as thick as a
man’s arm and very long. They had found it dead, for the sun had dried
up the puddle in which it had lived. This was enough to keep me from
tasting it; but the blacks were very much excited about it. It was
prepared in the same refined manner as the chief delicacies of the
natives.
Several of my companions were not old enough to be permitted to enjoy
the privilege of tasting it. Others wearing yellow necklaces as an
emblem of sorrow were also forbidden to eat of this aristocratic food.
These necklaces consist, as above stated, of short-cut pieces of yellow
grass strung on a string long enough to go round the neck ten to twelve
times. Sometimes they are worn as ornaments by both men and women. While
in mourning the Australian natives carefully abstain from certain kinds
of food, and it was a surprise to me that they could maintain this fast
so well as they did; but at last I found out that the reason for this
was a superstitious notion that the forbidden food, if eaten, would burn
up their bowels. They are very happy when the season of mourning is
ended, and although they have but vague notions of time, they know
precisely when they may lay aside their mourning dress—that is, the
yellow necklace. I have also seen the women paint their bodies with
chalk while they are in mourning. Near Rockhampton the blacks used to
cut themselves with stones or tomahawks; the women besides paint round
their eyes with white chalk. On the Barcoo I once met two women who had
their whole head plastered over with the same kind of stuff, which they
wear for weeks.
Their sorrow for the dead is not very deep; they chant their funeral
dirge for several evenings, but this is simply a formal respect paid the
deceased. I have many times heard these melancholy mourning tunes in the
silent night. The same strophe—for example, _Wainta, bēmo, bémo, yongool
naiko?_ (Where is my brother’s son, the only one I had?)—was continually
repeated. As a rule, the old women furnished the lamentations.
In the vicinity of Coomooboolaroo in Central Queensland an old woman
exhibited her sorrow at the deathbed of her husband in a very singular
manner. Having made a series of breakneck somersaults along the ground,
she took two pieces of wood and beat them together in despair. Her
husband died soon afterwards, and in a quarter of an hour he was buried.
During the days of mourning the deceased is rarely mentioned, and when
the yellow necklace has been laid aside his name is never heard again.
This is doubtless the reason why the Australian natives have no
traditions. Many of them do not even know their father, and any
knowledge of earlier generations is out of the question. Strange
thoughts came to my mind as I walked the scrub paths which the blacks
had trodden with their naked feet for centuries. Here generation had
succeeded generation without a thought in regard to the past, and with
no care in reference to the future, living only for the present moment.
In the evening, after the eel had been consumed, the natives laid
themselves round the fire and enjoyed rest after the toils of the day.
It was late, and I thought my men were sleeping. The beaming rays of the
full moon illuminated the romantic landscape. Now and then the silence
was broken by the mysterious notes of that singular night bird, the evil
spirit of the natives. Suddenly two of the natives arose, came to my
hut, and said: “We must depart, a great water will rise here; this is
not a good place to remain in!”
I remained perfectly calm and quiet in my hut, and expressed my contempt
for their silly notions. I answered that they might go if they pleased,
but that I would stay where I was. My opinion was that they would remain
with me. But presently they all got up, and pointing with their open
hands to the two persons who had eaten the eel, they said that these men
best understood the dangers connected with this place.
The fact was, of course, that they had become ill from eating the eel,
which had died a natural death. They now cursed the place by spitting in
all directions. The others followed their example, and immediately
thereupon they all proceeded up the mountain slope, spitting all the
time. I hoped they would return, but in this I was disappointed.
At length I came to the conclusion that it would be best for me to
follow them, lest they should leave me altogether. In that case my
situation would be a most deplorable one; for, although I had abundance
of tobacco, my supply of provisions was very low, and without the aid of
the natives I would be unable to get the necessaries of life. Game is
scarce in this part of the world, and the vegetables are either
uneatable or of very poor quality. All I had in my possession was a
small piece of meat and a handful or two of flour, scarcely enough for a
small damper.
I arose and climbed after them up a grassy and stony slope extending to
the top of the mountain along the scrub. The moon shone bright and
clear, so that it was not difficult to find the path. I called to them,
but they did not answer. Finally I reached the summit, and there I
caught sight of them. They sat crouched together under a casuarina-tree,
and were utterly speechless. They had actually intended to run away. But
when they heard me calling they decided to wait, in order that I might
join them and go to the “land” we had left. This place was evidently too
full of _Kvingan_.
I refused, however, to go, and threatened to return to Herbert Vale and
get the black police to deal with the matter, and they, I said, would
hunt them for months and shoot them. On the other hand, I used kind
words and promised them much tobacco, the only thing I had left worth
mentioning. Without guides I could not, of course, continue my journey.
We finally compromised the matter. I agreed that we should all sleep on
the summit of the mountain, but, on the other hand, they were to go with
me down to the camp to fetch our baggage. Strange to say, they made no
objections to this proposition. Their main object was to avoid sleeping
down in the valley.
On our return to the camp we found that the dingo had availed himself of
the opportunity of stealing the small piece of meat I had left. All
agreed that he should suffer for this mischief, but unfortunately he was
nowhere to be found.
The next day we came into a wild region abounding in scrubs and
declivities. Progress was most difficult, and it was almost impossible
to find a place suitable for a camp. _Otero_, who knew the country,
conducted us at last to a small flat spot near the upper edge of the
scrub. Here there was a little brook, though, upon the whole, water was
very scarce in this region. We remained here several days. I had never
before seen so many fresh traces of boongary, and the natives did their
best to secure specimens of the animal in this terrible locality; but we
had no dog, for the tribes we had visited had none, and the want of dogs
was a great misfortune. Still we were not discouraged. It must, however,
be admitted that the blacks did not feel perfectly safe in this region:
_mal_ was not very far away. We could see smoke on the mountains very
distinctly, when they burned the grass to hunt the wallaby.
One day, as we were rambling through the scrubs, we heard somebody
chopping with an axe in the distance. _Otero_ climbed a tree in order to
give a signal to the persons chopping, for he was acquainted with the
tribe that owned this “land.” He shouted at the top of his voice, the
chopping ceased, and a shout was heard from the distance.
_Otero_ shouted: _Ngipa ngipa Ka-au-ri!_—that is, I—I [am] Ka-au-ri!
My blacks had already comprehended the situation. The man whom we had
heard chopping was out in search of honey, and from this they at once
made up their minds as to where his camp was, for the natives usually
have regular places for camping. They also discovered his name, for they
knew whose land it was. Where the women of the tribe were, and what they
were doing, my men also seemed to know; for it was the season for
harvesting a certain kind of fruit, and they knew where this fruit grew
most abundantly.
In other parts of Australia I have seen the people make signals with
fires, indicating by the number of columns of smoke in what direction
they intended to go, etc. It is said that they can also make themselves
understood by the inflection of the words shouted.
It was Christmas Eve, and in honour of the day I had requested my men to
do their best to procure me something good to eat. I had promised them
twice the usual amount of tobacco if they were successful.
I was sitting all alone by my hut. A strange feeling came over me as I
pondered on the fact that it was Christmas Eve, and that I was in the
midst of an Australian forest and far away from the borders of
civilisation. The summer sun had clad the neighbouring hills with a
heavy carpet of green, the gloomy scrubs below had the appearance of a
boundless sea, and the sun shone in all its effulgence on the fresh
colours. On the summit of the mountain where I was sitting it was
somewhat cooler than in the bottom of the valley, where the heat was
oppressive. There was not a breath of air stirring, and the entire
landscape presented a scene of refreshing repose. In the tree-tops the
cicadas vociferously chanted the praises of the midsummer. All was light
and cheerful,—if we had only had something to eat!
All I had was a piece of bread; rather slender fare for Christmas. In
the afternoon the natives returned, bringing a few pieces of a rare root
called _vondo_, some honey, and a few white larvæ. But the nicest
present they brought me was an animal, which I had not seen before. The
natives called it _borrogo_. It is a marsupial of a brownish-yellow
colour, and about the size of a small cat. My _menu_ therefore was:
broiled borrogo, a small piece of bread, broiled vondo, and honey mixed
with water. The food was not to be complained of, the only trouble being
that there was not enough for so many people as we were. I could not
help thinking of all the kettles in which delicious rice porridge was
now boiling in far-off Norway. What would I not have given for a plate
of it!
Thus it will be seen that it is no easy matter to sustain life in the
wilds of North Australia, when one has to depend upon what he can find
in the woods and on the plains. The fare of the Australian native is not
well adapted to the wants of the constitution of a European. The flesh
of the marsupials has a sickly taste, while talegallas and pigeons, the
best game to be had, are rare. Lizards are not bad, but snakes are dry
and tasteless. There are only one or two kinds of fruits or roots that
can be eaten with appetite. One of them is the above-mentioned vondo,
which grows in sandy soil on the summit of the scrub-clad mountains, has
a stem as slender as a thread, and climbs the trees; hence is difficult
for any one but a native to find it. A fig called _yanki_, which is
yellowish in colour and semi-transparent, has an excellent flavour, but
it is so rare that I did not see it more than a single time during my
whole sojourn in Northern Queensland. Another variety of fig, _veera_,
grows on the grassy plains and is more common.
One evening a dingo came stealing into the camp, and we soon discovered
that it was our old runaway rogue who had abused our hospitality in so
shameful a manner. The natives eagerly besought me to shoot it, and
although I had a faint hope that it might be of some use to me, I
finally yielded to their entreaties, and to their great satisfaction
made the dingo suffer the penalty of death.
On our march through the scrub I heard _Otero_ tell one of his comrades,
that in that very place he had once seen a boongary jump from a tree
down on the ground and then disappear. He pointed out the tree. This
report made me still more eager, but all our exertions were in vain.
Meanwhile we secured a few other specimens of Australian fauna, and
among them four little flying-squirrels (_Petaurus breviceps_), which we
found lying together in a hollow tree.
It was still very difficult to secure a sufficient amount of food; and
when _Otero_ one day suddenly absconded, remaining longer was out of the
question, for the others were all strangers in this “land,” and hence
they felt unsafe and were anxious to get home.
The one who, next after me, had the most cause to be vexed at _Otero’s_
flight was Yanki, his faithful relative. Yanki had on all occasions
devoted himself to his _Otero_—had shared with him his food, his
tobacco, and all other good things he had. Despite his innocent looks,
_Otero_ had now run away, and he had also taken Yanki’s shirt with him.
His conduct was most disgraceful, and it illustrates how little the
Australian blacks are to be depended on.
I persuaded the others to remain here one day longer, and promised them
to shoot a wallaby when we reached the grassy plain. But they were of
but little service to me after we had lost our guide, and we were
obliged to leave, to get something to eat, if for no other reason.
We had to take a zigzag course to reach the bottom of Herbert river
valley, so steep was the descent. A rock-wallaby ran across our path and
disappeared at once. At noon we passed the great falls of the river, and
made a short halt in their vicinity. The surroundings were exceedingly
wild and romantic, but I confess I was too hungry to enjoy the imposing
scenery. Then we followed the course of the river, and walked as fast as
we were able in the high grass. All nature seemed to be fast asleep. We
did not see a sign of life as we walked along the bank of the river in
the scorching heat of the sun and in the tall grass. The only sound I
heard was the roar of the waterfall thundering among the mountains in
the distance. It has been said that an Australian landscape breathes
melancholy, and the truth of this statement is fully appreciated by a
person who, on a day like this, wanders amid these sober, awe-inspiring
gum-trees and acacias. One’s mind cannot help being overcome by a sense
of solitude and desertion.
One or two hours before sunset and early in the morning the wallabies
are in the habit of coming out to feed on the grass, and at such times
it is not very difficult to get within shooting range of them; but on
this particular evening they were very shy. The few that we got sight of
disappeared again, thus frustrating all hopes of getting a good supper
that night.
It was late and perfectly dark when we arrived at our old camp, where we
had left our horses. I had been prudent enough to save a small piece of
bread for myself, and I would have preferred as usual to share it with
my men, but it was not enough to divide, and besides, I knew that the
natives were able to endure hunger far better than I was.
As they had nothing to eat, I gave them a little tobacco, in order that
they might have some comfort; but they put it away without smoking it,
and soon laid themselves down by the fire to sleep the time away—a
common habit of the blacks when it, for instance in the wet season, is
difficult to secure food to allay their hunger.
We had left the horses in a place enclosed by nature in such a manner
that they could not get away. It would, therefore, be an easy matter to
find them, provided they had not been killed by the natives during our
long absence. There was reason to suspect this, and we were agreeably
surprised when, in the darkness of the night, we heard the tinkling of
the bell, and the next morning found them all safe and sound.
Before sunrise the next morning Ganindali and I set out to hunt the
wallaby, and near the camp we discovered a large number feeding on the
grass, and shot two of them. Ganindali brought one to the camp, and
asked one of his comrades to fetch the other, while he and the rest
began to cook the first. This produced life in the camp! Within two
minutes a splendid fire was burning. One of the animals was thrown upon
the burning embers, and was turned by its long tail. Ganindali acted as
chief cook. When the hair was scorched off the skin, the animal was
dragged out of the fire. The belly was opened with a sharp stone, and
the entrails were drawn out. Four red-hot stones replaced the bowels,
and the animal was placed on the cinders. As soon as it was tolerably
well roasted, the blacks attacked it most greedily and tore it into
pieces.
Before long they had eaten their fill of the juicy meat; then they ran
down to the river, waded a little way into the stream, and drank from
the hollow of their hands. Having quenched their thirst, they returned
in a leisurely way to the camp and resumed their eating. Then they sat
down round the fire and began lighting their pipes. But they did not
want to light their pipes with embers from the fire; they demanded
matches. I did not as a rule give them matches when we sat round a
blazing fire, but now, as our journey was nearly at an end, I did not
begrudge them the pleasure of lighting their pipes in the same manner as
the white man does, and of hearing the crack of a match. Meanwhile I,
too, had finished my supper, and the unsavoury kangaroo flesh had a most
excellent flavour on this occasion.