The Confessions of a Beachcomber Part 21

George is not the least superst.i.tious. He takes everything for granted.

Rain, in his opinion, comes from a big tank up above somewhere. Asked as to his belief in the personal "debil-debil," of whom the mainland boys have such dread that few will stir out after dark, he said with a guffaw--"Me nebber bin see one yet. Suppose me see 'em, me run 'em!"

George is, therefore, as yet unable to give a description of the fiend; but from hearsay authority declares that it possesses three eyes, two in the ordinary position, and one at the back of the head. It is believed that the third eye insures the "debil-debil" against all possible surprises, thus preserving the mystery of ident.i.ty.

Though he has not a shadow of respect for the "debil-debil," George has a firm faith in the existence in the neighbourhood of Cooktown of a camp of what he calls "groun' gins." His experience with these mysterious subterranean sirens he thus describes--

"Little bit outside Cooktown camp belonga groun' gins. Me and Sargen' go look big corrobboree; my word. Some gins come out alonga groun' from hole. When go down, groun' close up himself, like winda. My word, me fright. Me shake. One good fella nice gin come up. Sargen' say--'You go corrobboree dance along that fella.' Me say--'We go home now, me fright.

We want go alonga town. This no good place.' Sargen' laugh little bit.

He say--'No, my boy, you no fright. All right here. You dance alonga that fella gin--good nice gin.' Me go up. Me feel 'em fright. Feel 'em cold inside. Too much fright. My word; han' belonga that fella gin--cold like anything. That gin say--'Where you from?' Me say--'Me come from alonga town.' That gin say--'What you look out?' Me say--'Me look out bullocky, musser 'em cattle. Tail 'em up. Look out weaner alonga padd.i.c.k. Plenty hard work.' Me dance little bit alonga that gin. Not much. Too fright. Bi'mby that gin go down below. Groun' shut 'em up. All day down below. Come up night time. Carn come up alonga sun. Soft fella that. Suppose come up alonga sun, sun kill 'em. Too sof' altogether."

Cooktown blacks, according to George, use a much lighter sporting spear than that in vogue in these parts. Instead of a slender sapling (preferably of red mangrove), straightened and toughened patiently over the fire, he would provide himself with the scape of a gra.s.s tree (XANTHORRHEA ARBOREA), true and straight as a billiard cue, light, and 8 or 10 feet long. Into a socket in the thicker end he would insert a single 1/4-inch steel point, 18 inches long, or three pieces of No. 8 wire, with the sharpened points slightly spread.

The merit of his weapon was the subject of frequent debate, the Dunk Island natives arguing in favour of a heavier spear, but George showed that his was effective as well as economic. During a discussion, George told the following story, which, it will be noticed, has in some details, its parallel in a tragic incident in the history of England. No attempt is made to refine George's language:--

"This fella spear kill plenty. Kangaroo, wallaby, fish--kill 'em all asame. He go ri' through longa kangaroo. One time me see 'em catch one fella boy. Brother belonga me--Billy--strong fella that. One time we go after kangaroo. Billy walk about close up, me sit down alonga rock; me plant me'self. 'Nother boy close up. He plant. We no see that fella.

Bi'mby me see little fella wallaby feed about. Me bin whistle alonga my brother. 'Here wallaby. Come this way; quiet!' my brother come up.

'Tchuk spear, miss wallaby, catch 'em that other fella boy, here. He bin sing out--cry like anything. My brother fright. That boy sing out--'Billy, you; what for you spear me.' Billy run away, that boy sing out--'Billy. No, you run away. Come up; pull out spear, quick fella!'

Billy run away. Me sit down quiet. No make noise. Me hear that fella cry, cry, sing out like anything. He carn walk about. Me go quiet along a gra.s.s long way. Come round 'nother side. That boy no bin see me. Bi'mby me see gins--big mob. Sing out--'One fella boy bin catch 'em spear. He very bad. Close up dead now.' Billy plant himself long way. Boys and gins come up, where boy sing out. 'Carry 'em alonga camp.' Me go long way, where auntie belonga me sit down. That spear cartn pull 'em out. He got hook. All a time that boy sing out, 'Pull out spear.' Bi'mby Billy come back. He very sorry. He say--'Me no wan' spear you. Me no look out you.

Me wan' catch 'em wallaby.' That boy say, 'All ri, Billy. You good mate belonga me.' Three days that spear inside yet. Me come alonga camp. That boy look 'em all ri'. Me say--'Me very sorry. Me think you dead now.' He say--'Me no dead. Me feel all ri'. Me want pull out spear.' Old men pull out hard. Carn s.h.i.+ft 'em. Old men say--'We cut 'em now.' Get knife, sharpen 'em, cut 'em, cut 'em, cut 'em. Three strong boys pull 'em spear. Pull 'em hard altogether. Pull out plenty beef longa that hook.

That boy no sing out. My word. He carn stop. Two weeks dead. Gins no bin bury 'em. What you think? Cut 'em up beef from bone; put beef in bark, put white paint alonga bark, tie 'em up and hung up 'em a longa dilly-bag. My word, puff! Bi'mby you se-mell 'em stink."

George was not pressed to display his accomplishments. He chose during many months to hold himself in reserve, and to live up to the reputation of being quite a scholar, as far as scholars.h.i.+p goes among blacks. But in accordance with expectations, his pride and enthusiasm got the better of him. He produced two sc.r.a.ps of paper, on each of which were a number of sinuous lines and scrawls, saying

"You write all asame this kind?"

"No," I said, "I no write like that."

"This easy fella? All the time me write this kind."

"Well, what you write?" George's attention at once became concentrated, and gazing steadfastly on the paper for a minute or so for the marshalling of his wits, said--"This fella say Coleman Riber, Coen Riber?

Horse Dead Creek, Ma.s.sac (Ma.s.sacre) Riber, Big Morehead, Kennedy Riber, Laura Riber." These are the names of some of the streams north from Cooktown, George's country. On the other sc.r.a.p of paper, according to him, the names of some of the islands in this neighbourhood were written. Though the papers were transposed and turned upside down, George could read them with equal facility. The list of rivers would be read for the islands, and the islands for the rivers, quite indifferently, and with entertaining naivete. But he treasured the papers, and continued to delude his fellows with the display of what they considered to be wonderful cleverness.

YAB-OO-RAGOO, OTHERWISE "MICKIE"

"Mislike me not for my complexion."

He said that his name was Mickie, and that he was an Irishman, and a native of the great Palm Island--40 miles south. He hath no personal comeliness--his face is his great misfortune. Though he a.s.serts with pride his nationality, he admits that his mother, now among the stars, "sat down alonga 'nother side," and his complexion, or rather what is seen of it through an artless layer of charcoal and grease, applied out of respect to the memory of his deceased brother-in-law, shows no Celtic trace. Yet he has a keen appreciation of fun, has ready wit, and, according to his own showing, is not averse to a s.h.i.+ndy, so that, perhaps his given name is at least characteristic of his a.s.sumed race. A flat overhanging forehead, keen black eyes, a broad-rooted, un.o.btrusive nose, a most capacious mouth, beard and whiskers thin and unkempt, and a fierce-looking moustache, a head of hair which in boyhood days had probably been a ma.s.s of crisp curls, but now s.h.a.ggy tufts, matted and uneven, altogether a shockingly repulsive physiognomy, and yet an "honest Injin" in every respect and one who would always look on the happy side of life, but for twinges of neuralgia--"monda" he calls it--which rack his head and face with pain. I saw only the peaceful side of Mickie's nature, and therefore this chronicle will be unsensational as well as imperfect. There is a tradition that the Palm Island blacks are of a milder, less bellicose disposition, than those of the mainland opposite. Many years ago when a party of bushmen, fresh from the excitement and weariness of the Gilbert rush, reposed for a few days on the soft grey sand of Challenger Bay, the spot was invaded by a band of mainland natives. In the early dawn the peace-loving Palm Islanders awoke the friendly whites with the news that a "big fella mob" was coming across in canoes. Under ordinary circ.u.mstances they would have fled to the jungle-covered hills until the invaders had retired, but the knowledge that the whites had a couple of guns, and a good supply of shot, inspired a high degree of temporary courage. Possibly the extraordinary courage of the islanders in thus awaiting the attack put the invaders on their guard, for they would not approach nearer than 50 yards. A closer range was desired, for there was a special barrel loaded with coa.r.s.e salt, and the invaders were innocent of clothing. However, a round of duck-shot had some effect, though the blacks who escaped the pickling slapped themselves in a defiant and grossly-contemptuous manner. Each who did so, however, grieved, for another round was fired, and each hero must have depended upon the good offices of his brother in distress in picking out the pellets. This is said to be the last occasion on which the placid Palm Islanders saw an enemy land upon their sh.o.r.es. Mickie did not remember the invasion, or if he did so, he was not anxious to demonstrate that his ancestors were not cast in the heroic mould. Probably all recollection of the escapade is lost to the natives of the Palms, and I am driven to accept the white man's uncorroborated version of it.

Mickie is very proud of his well-conditioned spouse, "Jinny"--"Missus Michael," as Mickie calls her when in the sportive vein--and Jinny, or "Penti-byer," her maiden name, reciprocates the regard, and sees that the dilly-bag, which does duty for the larder, is supplied with yams, nuts, roots and sh.e.l.l-fish, Mickie being responsible for the fish--speared in the lagoon at low tide--and the scrub-fowl eggs, and the ivory white grubs, etc., upon which they live when there is no "white fella" sitting down. When Providence sends a "white fella," they appreciate flour, tea, sugar, potatoes, meat, and all sorts of game, from c.o.c.katoos to flying-foxes. Once Mickie was asked how he managed to win the favour of such a fine gin. "Unkl belonga her giv'em me," he replied. There was no marriage ceremony. There was no knocking out of a tooth, or the administration of a stunning blow on the head with a nulla-nulla, no eating of maize-pudding from the same plate, no drinking brandy together, no "hand fasting," nor boring of the bride's ears by the bridegroom, no tying of hands, nor smearing with each other's blood, nor binding together with ropes of gra.s.s; simply, "Unkl belonga her giv 'em me!" Once in his possession, however, and Mickie proceeded to set his mark on his bride, so that should any dispute arise as to ident.i.ty, he at least would have authentic brands. With an apparently studied array of cicatrices, each 3 inches long and half an inch wide, on her arms and shoulders, Mickie marked Jinny for his own. The couple have one girl--Mickie prefers to use the word "daw-tah"--and his child had been but lately received into the bosom of the family, after several years'

exile among the whites. It is somewhat of a trouble that "Minnie" had almost forgotten her native tongue, and that her parents have to yabber to her in English. According to them it will be a year before Minnie regains lingual facility. In the meantime great pains are being taken with her education, and her accomplishments promise to be varied, though entirely unornamental. She will in time be able to recognise at a glance the particular kind of decayed timber in which the delicious white grub resides, will know that the nut of the cycad has to be immersed in a running stream before it is "good fella," and how to grind the kernel into flour, and how to mould the dough into a German sausage-shaped damper; she will be able to walk about the reef, picking up blacklip oysters and clams, without lacerating the soles of her feet, and to make a dilly-bag, and, finally, to enjoy a smoke.

Mickie appreciates a joke. When Jinny complained that the scrub caught her brand new pipe and had broken it short off, Mickie with an extravagant grimace softly urged her to go along Townsville and buy another.

He is also superst.i.tious. After dark he will not move a yard from his camp without a flaring torch of paper bark, a fiery aspersorium for the scaring of the "debil-debil." His opinions on the supernatural are unsatisfactory. He does not know what the "debil-debil" is like, or what form the ill-will of that mystic being would take--nothing but "that fella sit down alonga scrub," and that he has "long fella needle alonga hand"; and so he carries and waves about his paper bark torch to scare this viewless and dreaded enemy.

Mickie's views as to the future are not quite explicit. "Suppose me go bung, me go alonga sky. Bi'mby jump up 'nother fella." He is not at all certain whether the transformation would be into a white man or not; in fact he appears absolutely indifferent. Another time he will say--"Suppose me go bung. Good-bye, finish; no come back. Plenty fella alonga Palm Island go bung. He no come back." Daylight disperses all his fears.

In point of fact he has nothing to fear. His foes are dead, and there is no poisonous snake or offensive animal on the Palms. Once he sprang suddenly and excitedly into the air as we tramped through the long gra.s.s on the edge of the sweetly-smelling jungle, with the exclamation, "Little fella snake!" Being reminded that he had boldly a.s.serted that there was no bad snakes on the island, Mickie replied--"That fella no bad. Only make foot big." He never missed a chance of securing a hatful of grubs, which, together with the chrysalides and the full-grown beetle (brown and glossy) were devoured after being warmed through on the ashes. When the tomahawk in the process of cutting out damaged a grub, Mickie with a leer of satisfaction would eat the wriggling insect with a feigned apology--"Me bin cut that fella." Baked in the ashes the chrysalids have a wholesome, clean appearance, with a flavour of coco-nut, and the "white fella" always came in for his share.

Mickie's bush craft, his knowledge of the habits of birds and insects and the ways of fish, is enviable. Signs and sounds quite indeterminate to "white fellas" are full of meaning to him. Of course, by failure to comprehend such things, no doubt he has many a time gone hungry, and the keenness of his appet.i.te has so sharpened his perceptions that he is seldom at fault now. The scratching of a scrub fowl among decayed leaves is heard in the jungle at an extraordinary distance, and a splash or ripple far out on the edge of the reef tells him that a shark or kingfish is driving the mullet into the lagoon, where he may easily spear them. He can tell to a quarter of an hour when the fish will leave off biting; he hears the scamper of the iguana in the gra.s.s when the "white fella" fails to catch a sound, and knows when the giant crabs will be "walking about" in the mangroves. He is trustworthy and obliging, and ready to impart all the lore he possesses, an expert boomerang thrower, a dead shot with a nulla-nulla, and an eater of everything that comes in his way except "pigee-pigee." Having long had the pleasure of his acquaintance, I can cordially wish him a never-failing supply of "patter" and tobacco, and surcease of "monda"; and what more can the heart of a blackfellow desire--save rum?

TOM: HIS WIVES--HIS BATTLES

Tom has been thrice married--at least he has possessed three wives. For a few months he had two at a time, and placidly endured the consequences.

Of the bride of his youth history has no word--for Tom is the only historian of that period, and he ever bears sorrows in silence.

Nelly, whose country borders the beach of the mainland opposite, could not speak his language when he fought for her fairly and honourably, and won her from her first man. Though reared but a little over 2 miles apart, these twain have totally different words for the same objects.

During married life each has added to the vocabulary of the other.

When we took possession of the island, Nelly would glide into the jungle like a frightened snake and hide for days. She was wild, suspicious, uncleanly, uncouth--a combination of all the shortcomings of the savage.

Now she lights the fire every morning, kneads the bread, makes the porridge and the coffee, feeds the fowls, washes plates and clothes, scrubs floors, and generally does the work of a domestic. She is cheerfully industrious, emphatic in her admiration of pictures, and smokes continuously, preferring a pipe ornamented with "lead," for she has all the woman's love of show. From the most quarrelsome and vixenish gin of the camp she has been transformed into a decent-minded peacemaker--always ready to atone for the misbehaviour of others, and to display without a trace of self-glorification the virtue of self-sacrifice. Nelly is never happier than when working about the house, except when she saunters off on a Sunday morning, in the glare of a new dress, and with the smoke curling from her ornamented pipe, beneath a hat which, in variety of tints, shames the sunset sky.

Students of ethnology who may scan these lines may find food for reflection in the fact that Tom and Nelly offer exceptions to the rules that the totems of Australian blacks generally refer to food, and that those whose totems are alike do not marry. Tom's totemic t.i.tle, "Kitalbarra," is derived from a splinter of a rock off an islet to the southeast of Dunk Island. "Oongle-bi," Nelly's affinity, is a rock on the summit of a hill on the mainland, not far from her birthplace. The plea of the rocks was not raised as any just cause or impediment to the match when Tom by force of arms espoused Nelly. "Jimmy," Tom and Nelly's son, born in civilisation, bears a second name, that of a deceased uncle, "Toola-un-guy," the totemic rendering of which is now unknown.

Another "Jimmy," a native of Hinchinbrook, is differentiated by "Yaeki-muggie," the t.i.tle of the sandspit of one of the Brook Islands.

The confusion of tongues between Tom and Nelly may be briefly ill.u.s.trated--

TOM ("Kitalbarra"). NELLY ("Oongle-bi").

Sun. Wee-yee. Car-rie.

Moon. Yil-can. Car-cal-oon.

Sky. Aln-pun. Moogah-car-boon.

Mainland. Yungl-man. Mung-un.

Island. Cul-qua-yah. Moan-mitte.

Sea. Mutta. Yoo-moo.

Fire. Wam-pui. Poon-nee.

Water. Cam-moo. Pan-nahr.

Rain. Yukan. Yukan.

Man. Mah-al. Yer-rah.

Woman. Rit-tee. Ee-bee.

Baby. Eee-bee. Koo-jal.

Head. Poo-you. Oom-poo.

Foot. Pin-kin. Chin-nah.

Leg. Waka. Too-joo.

Hand. Man-dee. Mul-lah.

Fish. Tar-boo. Kooyah.

Bird. Poong-an. Toon-doo.

The big-eyed walking fish of the mangroves, which the learned have named PERIOPHTHALMUS KOELREUTERI, Tom knows as "manning-tsang," and Nelly as "mourn!"

During one of his bachelordom interludes a smart young gin known as "Dolly" attracted Tom's fancy. He had just "signed on" for a six months' cruise with the master of a beche-de-mer schooner. Dolly smiled so sweetly upon Tom that Charley, her boy, raged furiously. Tom--never demonstrative, always cool and deep--obtaining an advance from his captain, bought, among a few other attractive trifles, an extremely gaudy dress, and having artlessly displayed the finery, took it all on board the schooner, which was to sail the following morning at daylight.

During the evening Dolly strolled casually from the camp and the society of the fuming Charley, and disappeared. Tom had quite a trousseau, new and bright, for his sweetheart, when she clambered on board, naked, wet, and with s.h.i.+ning eyes. Next morning Charley tracked her along the beach.

An old and soiled dress--his gift--on a little promontory of rocks about a mile from the anchorage of the schooner completed the love-story.

This intrigue took place many years ago, but Charley was so deeply mortified that he hates Tom to this day, and Tom is an uncomfortable fellow for anyone disposed to resentfulness.

We know, because he says so, that Tom fought for her, and that Nelly gladly accepted the protection of the staunchest man of the district.