I now approach the momentous time when this unfortunate man recovered his senses. When he regained consciousness after the fit Yamba and I were with him, and so was his wife. I had not seen him for some days, and was much shocked at the change that had taken place. He was ghastly pale and very much emaciated. I knew that death was at hand. Just as he regained consciousness—I can see the picture now; yes, we were all around his fragrant couch of eucalyptus leaves, waiting for him to open his eyes—he gazed at me in a way that thrilled me strangely, andI knew I was looking at a sane white man. His first questions were “Where am I? Who are you?” Eager and trembling I knelt down beside him and told him the long and strange story of how I had found him, and how he had now been living with me nearly two years. I pointed out to him our faithful Bruno, who had often taken him for long walks and brought him back safely, and who had so frequently driven away from him deadly snakes, and warned him when it was time to turn back. I told him he was in the centre of Australia; and then I told in brief my own extraordinary story. I sent Yamba to our shelter for the letter I had found in his tracks, and read it aloud to him. He never told me who the writer of it was. He listened to all I had to tell him with an expression of amazement, which soon gave place to one of weariness—the weariness of utter weakness. He asked me to carry him outside into the sun, and I did so, afterwards squatting down beside him and opening up another conversation.He then told me his name was Gibson,and that he had been a member of the Giles Expedition of1874. From that moment I never left him night or day. He told me much about that expedition which I can never reveal, for I do not know whether he was lying or raving. Poor, vulgar, Cockney Gibson! He seemed to know full well that he was dying, and the thought seemed to please him rather than otherwise. He appeared to me to be too tired, too weary to live—that was the predominant symptom.
I introduced Yamba to him, and we did everything we possibly could to cheer him, but he gradually sank lower and lower. I would say, “Cheer up, Gibson. Why, when you are able to walk we will make tracks straightway for civilisation. I am sure you know the way, for now you are as right as I am.” But nothing interested the dying man. Shortly before the end his eyes assumed a strained look, and I could see he was rapidly going. The thought of his approaching end was to me a relief; it would be untrue if I were to say otherwise. For weeks past I had seen that the man could not live, and considering that every day brought its battle for life, you will readily understand that this poor helpless creature was a terrible burden to me. He had such a tender skin that at all times I was obliged to keep him clothed. For some little time his old shirt and trousers did duty, but at length I was compelled to make him a suit of skins. Of course, we had no soap with which to wash his garments, but we used to clean them after a fashion by dumping them down into a kind of greasy mud and then trampling on them, afterwards rinsing them out in water. Moreover, his feet were so tender that I always had to keep him shod with skin sandals.
His deathbed was a dramatic scene—especially under the circumstances. Poor Gibson! To think that he should have escaped death after those fearful waterless days and nights in the desert, to live for two years with a white protector, and yet then die of a wasting and distressing disease!
He spent the whole day in the open air, for he was very much better when in the sun. At night I carried him back into his hut, and laid him in the hammock which I had long ago slung for him. Yamba knew he was dying even before I did, but she could do nothing.
We tried the effect of the curious herb called “pitchori,” but it did not revive him. “Pitchori,” by the way, is a kind of leaf which the natives chew in moments of depression; it has an exhilarating effect upon them.
On the last day I once more made up a bed of eucalyptus leaves and rugs on the floor of Gibson’s hut. Surrounding him at the last were his wife—a very good and faithful girl—Yamba, myself, and Bruno—who, by the way, knew perfectly well that his friend was dying. He kept licking poor Gibson’s hand and chest, and then finding no response would nestle up close to him for half-an-hour at a time. Then the affectionate creature would retire outside and set up a series of low, melancholy howls, only to run in again with hope renewed.
Poor Gibson! The women-folk were particularly attached to him because he never went out with the men, or with me, on my various excursions, but remained behind in their charge. Sometimes, however, he would follow at our heels as faithfully and instinctively as Bruno himself. For the past two years Bruno and Gibson had been inseparable, sleeping together at night, and never parting for a moment the whole day long. Indeed, I am sure Bruno became more attached to Gibson than he was to me. And so Gibson did not, as I at one time feared he would, pass away into the Great Beyond, carrying with him the secret of his identity. Looking at him as he lay back among the eucalyptus leaves, pale and emaciated, I knew the end was now very near.
I knelt beside him holding his hand, and at length, with a great effort, he turned towards me and said feebly, “Can you hear anything?” I listened intently, and at last was compelled to reply that I did not. “Well,” he said, “I hear some one talking. I think the voices of my friends are calling me.” I fancied that the poor fellow was wandering in his mind again, but still his eyes did not seem to have that vacant gaze I had previously noticed in them. He was looking steadily at me, and seemed to divine my thoughts, for he smiled sadly and said, “No, I know what I am saying. I can hear them singing, and they are calling me away. They have come for me at last!” His thin face brightened up with a slow, sad smile, which soon faded away, and then, giving my hand a slight pressure, he whispered almost in my ear, as I bent over him, “Good-bye, comrade, I’m off. You will come too, some day.” A slight shiver, and Gibson passed peacefully away.
Lost in the desert—Gibson’s dying advice—Giles meets Gibson—A fountain in the desert—A terrible fix—Giles regains his camp—Gibson’s effects—Mysterious tracks—A treasured possession—A perfect paradise—Grape vines a failure—A trained cockatoo—An extraordinary festival—My theory of the “ghosts.”
After the funeral his wife followed out the usual native conventions. She covered herself with pipeclay for about one month. She also mourned and howled for the prescribed three days, and gashed her head with stone knives, until the blood poured down her face. Gibson’s body was not buried in the earth, but embalmed with clay and leaves, and laid on a rock-shelf in a cave.
The general belief was that Gibson had merely gone back to the Spirit Land from whence he had come, and that, as he was a great and good man, he would return to earth in the form of a bird—perhaps an ibis, which was very high indeed. I must say I never attached very much importance to what he said, even in his sane moments, because he was obviously a man of low intelligence and no culture. If I remember rightly, he told me that the expedition to which he was attached left Adelaide with the object of going overland to Fremantle. It was thoroughly well equipped, and for a long time everything went well with the party. One day, whilst some of them were off exploring on their own account, he lost himself.
He rather thought that the sun must have affected his brain even then, because he didn’t try to find his companions that night, but went to sleep quite contentedly under a tree. He realised the horror of his position keenly enough the next morning, however, and rode mile after mile without halting for food or water, in the hope of quickly regaining his friends at the chief camp. But night stole down upon him once more, and he was still a lonely wanderer, half delirious with thirst; the supply he had carried with him had long since given out.
Next morning, when he roused himself, he found that his horse had wandered away and got lost. After this he had only a vague recollection of what happened. Prompted by some strange, unaccountable impulse, he set out on a hopeless search for water, and went walking on and on until all recollection faded away, and he remembered no more. How long he had been lost when I found him he could not say, because he knew absolutely nothing whatever about his rescue. So far as I remember, he was a typical specimen of the Australian pioneer—a man of fine physique, with a full beard and a frank, but unintelligent, countenance. He was perhaps five feet nine inches in height, and about thirty years of age. When I told him the story of my adventures he was full of earnest sympathy for me, and told me that if ever I intended leaving those regions for civilisation again, my best plan would be to steer more south-east, as it was in that direction that Adelaide lay.
He also informed me that the great trans-Continental telegraph wire was being constructed from north to south. This he advised me to strike and follow to civilisation.
I may be permitted a little digression here to give a few extracts from Giles’s book, “Australia Twice Traversed” (Sampson Low & Company), for this contains the version of the leader of the expedition himself as to the circumstances under which Gibson was lost. In all, it seems, Giles made five exploring expeditions into and through Central South Australia and Western Australia from 1872 to 1876. Speaking of his second expedition, Mr. Giles says: “I had informed my friend, Baron Von Mueller, by wire from the Charlotte Waters Telegraph station, of the failure and break-up of my first expedition, and he set to work and obtained new funds for me to continue my labours. I reached Adelaide late in January 1873, and got my party together. We left early in March of 1873, and journeyed leisurely up-country to Beltana, then past the Finnis Springs to the Gregory. We then journeyed up to the Peake, where we were welcomed by Messrs. Bagot at the Cattle Station, and Mr. Blood of the Telegraph Department. Here we fixed up all our packs, sold Bagot the waggon, and bought horses and other things. We now had twenty pack-horses and four riding-horses.”
We next come to the introduction of Gibson. “Here a short young man accosted me, and asked me if I didn’t remember him. He said he was ‘Alf.’ I thought I knew his face, but I thought it was at the Peake that I had seen him; but he said, ‘Oh, no! Don’t you remember Alf, with Bagot’s sheep at the north-west bend of the Murray? My name’s Alf Gibson, and I want to go out with you.’ I said, ‘Well, can you shoe? Can you ride? Can you starve? Can you go without water? And how would you like to be speared by the blacks?’ He said he could do everything I had mentioned, and he wasn’t afraid of the blacks. He was not a man I would have picked out of a mob, but men were scarce, and he seemed so anxious to come, so I agreed to take him.
“Thus, the expedition consisted of four persons—myself (Ernest Giles), Mr. William Henry Tietkins, Alf Gibson, and James Andrews; with twenty-four horses and two little dogs. On Monday, 4th August, we finally left the encampment.”
Now here is the passage in which Mr. Giles describes his dramatic parting with Gibson. It will be found in the chapter marked “20th April to 21st May 1874”: “Gibson and I departed for the West. I rode the ‘Fair Maid of Perth.’ I gave Gibson the big ambling horse, ‘Badger,’ and we packed the big cob with a pair of water-bags that contained twenty gallons. As we rode away, I was telling Gibson about various exploring expeditions and their fate, and he said, ‘How is it that, in all these exploring expeditions, a lot of people go and die?’ He said, ‘I shouldn’t like to die in this part of the country, anyhow.’
“We presently had a meal of smoked horse. It was late when we encamped, and the horses were much in want of water,—especially the big cob, who kept coming up to the camp all night and trying to get at our water-bags. We had one small water-bag hung in a tree.
“I didn’t think of that until my mare came straight up to it and took it in her teeth, forcing out the cork, and sending the water up, which we were both dying to drink, in a beautiful jet. Gibson was now very sorry he had exchanged ‘Badger’ for the cob, as he found the latter very dull and heavy to get along. There had been a hot wind from the north all day, and the following morning (the 23rd of April), there was a most strange dampness in the air, and I had a vague feeling, such as must have been felt by augurs and seers of old, who trembled as they told events to come;for this was the last day on which I ever saw Gibson.
“As Gibson came along after me, he called out that his horse was going to die. The hills to the west were twenty-five to thirty miles away, and I had to give up trying to reach them. How I longed for a camel! Gibson’s horse was now so bad as to place both of us in a great dilemma. We turned back in our tracks, when the cob refused to carry his rider any farther, and tried to lie down. We drove him another mile on foot, and down he fell to die. My mare, the ‘Fair Maid of Perth,’ was only too willing to return, but she had now to carry Gibson’s saddle and things, and away we went, walking and riding in turns of one half-hour each.
“When we got back to about thirty miles from a place which I had named ‘The Kegs,’ I shouted to Gibson, who was riding, to stop until I walked up to him. By this time we had hardly a pint of water left between us.
“We here finished the supply, and I then said, as I could not speak before, ‘Look here, Gibson, you see we are in a most terrible fix, with only one horse. Only one can ride, and one must remain behind. I shall remain; and now listen to me. If the mare does not get water soon, she will die; therefore, ride right on; get to the Kegs, if possible, to-night, and give her water. Now that the cob is dead, there’ll be all the more water for her. Early to-morrow you will sight the Rawlinson, at twenty-five miles from the Kegs. Stick to the tracks and never leave them. Leave as much water in one keg for me as you can afford, after watering the mare and filling up your own bags; and, remember, I depend upon you to bring me relief.’
“Gibson said if he had a compass he thought he could go better by night. I knew he didn’t understand anything about compasses, as I had often tried to explain them to him. The one I had was a Gregory’s Patent, of a totally different construction from ordinary instruments of the kind, and I was loth to part with it, as it was the only one I had. However, as he was so anxious for it, I gave it to him, and away he went. I sent one final shout after him to stick to the tracks, and he said, ‘All right’ and the mare carried him out of sight almost instantly.
“Gibson had left me with a little over two gallons of water, which I could have drunk in half-an-hour. All the food I had was eleven sticks of dirty, sandy, smoked horse, averaging about an ounce and a half each.
“On the first of May, as I afterwards found out, at one o’clock in the morning, I staggered into the camp, and awoke Mr. Tietkins at daylight. He glared at me as if I had been one risen from the dead. I asked him if he had seen Gibson. It was nine days since I last saw him. The next thing was to find Gibson’s remains. It was the 6th of May when we got back to where he had left the right line. As long as he had remained on the other horses’ tracks it was practicable enough to follow him, but the wretched man had left them and gone away in a far more southerly direction, having the most difficult sand-hills to cross at right angles. We found he had burnt a patch of spinifex where he had left the other horses’ tracks.
“Whether he had made any mistake in steering by the compass or not it is impossible to say; but instead of going east, as he should have done, he actually went south, or very near it.
“I was sorry to think that the unfortunate man’s last sensible moments must have been embittered by the thought that, as he had lost himself in the capacity of messenger for my relief, I, too, must necessarily fall a victim to his mishap.
“I called this terrible region, lying between the Rawlinson Range and the next permanent water that may eventually be found to the north, ‘Gibson’s Desert,’—after this first white victim to its horrors.
“In looking over Gibson’s few effects, Mr. Tietkins and I found an old pocket-book, a drinking-song, and a certificate of his marriage. He had never told us he was married.”
And now to resume my own narrative. You will remember that I had settled down for a considerable time on the shores of the lagoon, where I had made everything around me as comfortable as possible. Yamba had no difficulty whatever in keeping us well supplied with roots and vegetables; and as kangaroos, opossums, snakes, and rats abounded, we had an ample supply of meat, and the lagoon could always be relied upon to provide us with excellent fish. The country itself was beautiful in the extreme, with stately mountains, broad, fertile valleys, extensive forests,—and, above all, plenty of water. The general mode of living among the natives was much the same as that prevailing among the blacks in my own home at Cambridge Gulf,—although these latter were a vastly superior race in point of physique, war weapons, and general intelligence. The people I now found myself among were of somewhat small stature, with very low foreheads, protruding chins, high cheek-bones, and large mouths. Their most noteworthy characteristic was their extreme childishness, which was especially displayed on those occasions when I gave an acrobatic performance. My skill with the bow and arrow was, as usual, a never-ending source of astonishment. I was, in fact, credited with such remarkable powers that all my ingenuity had sometimes to be brought into play to accomplish, or to pretend to accomplish, the things expected of me. I knew that I must never fail in anything I undertook.
In the interior the natives never seemed to grow very plump, but had a more or less spare, not to say emaciated, appearance compared with the tribes near the coast. For one thing, food is not so easily obtainable, nor is it so nourishing. Moreover, the natives had to go very long distances to procure it.
Besides the low, receding forehead and protruding chin I have already hinted at as characteristic of the inland tribes, I also noticed that these people had abnormally large feet. Also, the beards of the men were not nearly so full or luxuriant as those of the blacks at Cambridge Gulf. The average height of the lagoon tribe was little more than five feet. For myself, I am about five feet seven and a half inches in height, and therefore I stalked about among them like a giant.
Now that Gibson was dead I decided to move my home farther north, and eventually settled down with my family (two children—a boy and a girl—had been born to me during my residence on the shores of the lagoon) in a beautiful mountainous and tropical region 200 or 300 miles to the north. It was my intention only to have made a temporary stay here, but other ties came, and my little ones were by no means strong enough to undertake any such formidable journey as I had in contemplation. I also made the fatal mistake of trying to bring my offspring up differently from the other savage children. But I must relate here an incident that happened on our journey north. Yamba came to me one day positively quivering with excitement and terror, and said she had found some strange tracks, apparently of some enormous beast—a monster so fearful as to be quite beyond her knowledge.
She took me to the spot and pointed out the mysterious tracks, which I saw at once were those of camels. I do not know why I decided to follow them, because they must have been some months old. Probably, I reflected, I might be able to pick up something on the tracks which would be of use to me. At any rate, we did follow the tracks for several days—perhaps a fortnight—and found on the way many old meat-tins, which afterwards came in useful as water vessels. One day, however, I pounced upon an illustrated newspaper—a copy of the SydneyTown and Country Journal, bearing some date, I think in 1875 or 1876. It was a complete copy with the outer cover. I remember it contained some pictures of horse-racing—I believe at Paramatta; but the “Long Lost Relative” column interested me most, for the very moment I found the paper I sat down in the bush and began to read this part with great eagerness. I could read English fairly well by this time, and as Yamba was also tolerably familiar with the language, I read the paper aloud to her. I cannot say she altogether understood what she heard, but she saw that I was intensely interested and delighted, and so she was quite content to stay there and listen. You will observe that in all cases, the very fact thatIwas pleased was enough for Yamba, who never once wavered in her fidelity and affection. Altogether we spent some weeks following up these tracks, but, of course, never came up with the caravan of camels, which must have been some months ahead of us. Yamba at length appeared to be a good deal wearied at my persistency in following up the tracks in this way; but after all, was it not merely killing time?—a mild sort of sensation which served to break the eternal monotony that sometimes threatened to crush me.
How I treasured that soiled copy of theTown and Country—as it is familiarly called in Sydney! I read and re-read it, and then read it all over again until I think I could have repeated every line of it by heart, even to the advertisements. Among the latter, by the way, was one inserted apparently by an anxious mother seeking information concerning a long-lost son; and this pathetic paragraph set me wondering about my own mother. “Well,” I thought, “she at least has no need to advertise, and I have the satisfaction of knowing that she must by this time be quite reconciled to my loss, and have given me up as dead long ago.” Strangely enough, this thought quite reconciled me to my exile. In fact, I thanked Providence that my disappearance had been so complete and so prolonged as to leave not the slightest cause for doubt or hope on the part of any of my relatives. Had I for a moment imagined that my mother was still cherishing hopes of seeing me again some day, and that she was undergoing agonies of mental suspense and worry on my behalf, I think I would have risked everything to reach her. But I knew quite well that she must have heard of the loss of theVeielland, and long ago resigned herself to the certainty of my death. I can never hope to describe the curious delight with which I perused my precious newspaper. I showed the pictures in it to my children and the natives, and they were more than delighted,—especially with the pictures of horses in the race at Paramatta. In the course of time the sheets of paper began to get torn, and then I made a pretty durable cover out of kangaroo hide. Thus the whole of my library consisted of my Anglo-French Testament, and the copy of theTown and Country Journal.
But I have purposely kept until the end the most important thing in connection with this strangely-found periodical. The very first eager and feverish reading gave me an extraordinary shock, which actually threatened my reason! In a prominent place in the journal I came across the following passage: “The Deputies of Alsace and Lorraine have refused to vote in the German Reichstag.”
Now, knowing nothing whatever of the sanguinary war of 1870, or of the alterations in the map of Europe which it entailed, this passage filled me with startled amazement. I read it over and over again, getting more bewildered each time. “The Deputies of Alsace and Lorraine have refused to vote in the German Reichstag!” “But—good heavens!” I almost screamed to myself, “whatwere the Alsace and Lorraine Deputies doing in the German Parliament at all?” I turned the matter over and over in my mind, and at last, finding that I was getting worked up into a state of dangerous excitement, I threw the paper from me and walked away. I thought over the matter again, and so utterly incomprehensible did it appear to me that I thought I must be mistaken—that my eyes must have deceived me. Accordingly I ran back and picked the paper up a second time, and there, sure enough, was the same passage. In vain did I seek for any sane explanation, and at last I somehow got it into my head that the appearance of the printed characters must be due to a kind of mental obliquity, and that I must be rapidly going mad! Even Yamba could not sympathise with me, because the matter was one which I never could have made her understand. I tried to put this strange puzzle out of my head, but again and again the accursed and torturing passage would ring in my ears until I nearly went crazy. But I presently put the thing firmly from me, and resolved to think no more about it.
It is not an exaggeration to describe my mountain home in the centre of the continent as a perfect paradise. The grasses and ferns there grew to a prodigious height, and there were magnificent forests of white gum and eucalyptus. Down in the valley I built a spacious house—the largest the natives had ever seen. It was perhaps twenty feet long, sixteen feet to eighteen feet wide, and about ten feet high. The interior was decorated with ferns, war implements, the skins of various animals, and last—but by no means least—the “sword” of the great sawfish I had killed in the haunted lagoon. This house contained no fireplace, because all the cooking was done in the open air. The walls were built of rough logs, the crevices being filled in with earth taken from ant-hills. I have just said thatIbuilt the house. This is, perhaps, not strictly correct. It was Yamba and the other women-folk who actually carried out the work, under my supervision. Here it is necessary to explain that I did not dare to do much manual labour, because it would have been considered undignified on my part. I really did not want the house; but, strangely enough, I felt much more comfortable when it was built and furnished, because, after all, it was a source of infinite satisfaction to me to feel that I had ahomeI could call my own. I had grown very weary of living like an animal in the bush, and lying down to sleep at night on the bare ground. It was this same consideration of “home” that induced me to build a little hut for poor Gibson.
The floor of my house was two or three feet above the ground in order to escape the ravages of the rats. There was only one storey, of course, and the whole was divided into two rooms—one as a kind of sitting-room and the other as a bedroom. The former I fitted out with home-made tables and chairs (I had become pretty expert from my experience with the girls); and each day fresh eucalyptus leaves were strewed about, partly for cleanliness, and partly because the odour kept away the mosquitoes. I also built another house about two days’ tramp up the mountains, and to this we usually resorted in the very hot weather.
Now here I have a curious confession to make. As the months glided into years, and I reviewed the whole of my strange life since the days when I went pearling with Jensen, the thought began gradually to steal into my mind, “Why not wait until civilisationcomes to you—as it must do in time? Why weary yourself any more with incessant struggles to get back to the world—especially when you are so comfortable here?” Gradually, then, I settled down and was made absolute chief over a tribe of perhaps five hundred souls. Besides this, my fame spread abroad into the surrounding country, and at every new moon I held a sort of informal reception, which was attended by deputations of tribesmen for hundreds of miles around. My own tribe already possessed a chieftain of their own but my position was one of even greater influence than his. Moreover, I was appointed to it without having to undergo the painful ceremonies that initiation entails. My immunity in this respect was of course owing to my supposed great powers, and the belief that I was a returned spirit. I was always present at tribal and war councils, and also had some authority over other tribes.
I adopted every device I could think of to make my dwelling home-like, and I even journeyed many miles in a NNE. direction, to procure cuttings of grape vines I had seen; but I must say that this at any rate was labour in vain, because I never improved upon the quality of the wild grapes, which had a sharp, acid flavour, that affected the throat somewhat unpleasantly until one got used to them.
When I speak of my “mountain home,” it must not be supposed that I remained in one place. As a matter of fact, in accordance with my usual practice, I took long excursions in different directions extending over weeks and even months at a time. On these occasions I always took with me a kind of nut, which, when eaten, endowed one with remarkable powers of vitality and endurance. Since my return to civilisation I have heard of the Kola nut, but cannot say whether the substance used by the Australian aboriginal is the same or not. I remember we generally roasted ours, and ate it as we tramped along. In the course of my numerous journeys abroad I blazed or marked a great number of trees; my usual mark being an oval, in or underneath which I generally carved the letter “L.” I seldom met with hostile natives in this region, but when I did my mysterious bow and arrows generally sufficed to impress them. By the way, I never introduced the bow as a weapon among the blacks, and they, on their part, never tried to imitate me. They are a conservative race, and are perfectly satisfied with their own time-honoured weapons.
Wild geese and ducks were plentiful in those regions, and there was an infinite variety of game. From this you will gather that our daily fare was both ample and luxurious.
And we had pets; I remember I once caught a live cockatoo, and trained him to help me in my hunting expeditions. I taught him a few English phrases, such as “Good-morning,” and “How are you?”; and he would perch himself on a tree and attract great numbers of his kind around him by his incessant chattering. I would then knock over as many as I wanted by means of my bow and arrows. At this time, indeed, I had quite a menagerie of animals, including a tame kangaroo. Naturally enough, I had ample leisure to study the ethnology of my people. I soon made the discovery that my blacks were intensely spiritualistic; and once a year they held a festival which, when described, will, I am afraid, tax the credulity of my readers. The festival I refer to was held “when the sun was born again,”—i.e., soon after the shortest day of the year, which would be sometime in June. On these occasions the adult warriors from far and near assembled at a certain spot, and after a course of festivities, sat down to an extraordinaryséanceconducted by women—very old, wizened witches—who apparently possessed occult powers, and were held in great veneration. These witches are usually maintained at the expense of the tribe. The office, however, does not necessarily descend from mother to daughter, it being only women credited with supernatural powers who can claim the position.
After the greatcorroboreethe people would squat on the ground, the old men and warriors in front, the women behind, and the children behind them. The whole congregation was arranged in the form of a crescent, in the centre of which a large fire would be set burning. Some of the warriors would then start chanting, and their monotonous sing-song would presently be taken up by the rest of the gathering, to the accompaniment of much swaying of heads and beating of hands and thighs. The young warriors then went out into the open and commenced to dance.
I may as well describe in detail the first of these extraordinary festivals which I witnessed. The men chanted and danced themselves into a perfect frenzy, which was still further increased by the appearance of three or four witches who suddenly rose up before the fire. They were very old and haggard-looking creatures, with skins like shrivelled parchment; they had scanty, dishevelled hair, and piercing, beady eyes. They were not ornamented in any way, and seemed more like skeletons from a tomb than human beings. After they had gyrated wildly round the fire for a short time, the chant suddenly ceased, and the witches fell prostrate upon the ground, calling out as they did so the names of some departed chiefs. A deathly silence then fell on the assembled gathering, and all eyes were turned towards the wreaths of smoke that were ascending into the evening sky. The witches presently renewed their plaintive cries and exhortations, and at length I was amazed to see strange shadowy forms shaping themselves in the smoke. At first they were not very distinct, but gradually they assumed the form of human beings, and then the blacks readily recognised them as one or other of their long-departed chiefs—estimable men always and great fighters. The baser sort never put in an appearance.
Now the first two or three times I saw this weird and fantastic ceremony, I thought the apparitions were the result of mere trickery.
But when I saw them year after year, I came to the conclusion that they must be placed in the category of those things which are beyond the ken of our philosophy. I might say that no one was allowed to approach sufficiently close to touch the “ghosts,”—if such they can be termed; and probably even if permission had been granted, the blacks would have been in too great a state of terror to have availed themselves of it.
Each of theseséanceslasted twenty minutes or half-an-hour, and were mainly conducted in silence. While the apparitions were visible, the witches remained prostrate, and the people looked on quite spellbound. Gradually the phantoms would melt away again in the smoke, and vanish from sight, after which the assembly would disperse in silence. By next morning all the invited blacks would have gone off to their respective homes. The witches, as I afterwards learnt, lived alone in caves; and that they possessed wonderful powers of prophecy was evidenced in my own case, because they told me when I came among them that I would still be many years with their people, but I would eventually return to my own kind. The warriors, too, invariably consulted these oracles before departing on hunting or fighting expeditions, and religiously followed their advice.
A teacher of English—Myself as a black-fellow—I rest content—An unknown terror—Manufacture of gunpowder—A curious find—The fiery raft—In the lair of snakes—A dangerous enemy—An exciting scene—A queer sport—Respect for the victor—A vain hope—Sore disappointment—Yamba in danger—A strange duel—My opponent greets me.
My two children were a source of great delight to me at this time,—although of course they were half-castes, the colour of their skin being very little different from that of their mother. The whiteness of their hands and finger-nails, however, clearly indicated their origin. They were not christened in the Christian way, neither were they brought up exactly in the same way as the native children.
I taught them English. I loved them very dearly, and used to make for them a variety of gold ornaments, such as bangles and armlets. They did not participate in all the rough games of the black children, yet they were very popular, having winning manners, and being very quick to learn. I often told them about my life in other parts of the world; but whenever I spoke of civilisation, I classed all the nations of the universe together, and referred to them as “my home,” or “my country.” I did not attempt to distinguish between France and Switzerland, England and America. Curiously enough, the subject that interested them most was the animal kingdom, and when I told them that I hoped some day to take them away with me to see my great country and the animals it contained, they were immensely delighted. Particularly they wanted to see the horse, the lion, and the elephant. Taking a yam-stick as pointer, I would often draw roughly in the sand almost every animal in Nature. But even when these rough designs were made for my admiring audience, I found it extremely difficult to convey an idea of the part in the economy of Nature which each creature played. I would tell them, however, that the horse was used for fighting purposes and for travel; that the cow yielded food and drink, and that the dogs drew sledges. It was absolutely necessary to dwell only on the utilitarian side of things. Beasts of burden would be incomprehensible. Both of my children were very proud of my position among and influence over the blacks.
And really I looked like a black-fellow myself at this time—not so much on account of exposure, as because my body was constantly coated with the charcoal and grease which serves as a protection from the weather and from insects. My children, you may be interested to learn, never grasped the fact that my exile was other than quite voluntary on my part.
The children of the blacks continued to interest me as much as ever (I was always fond of children); and I never grew tired of watching them at their quaint little games. I think they all loved me as much as I did them, and I was glad to see that their lives were one long dream of happiness. They had no school to attend, no work to perform, and no punishment to suffer. There are no children like the children of the bush for perfect contentment. They seldom or never quarrelled, and were all day long playing happily about the camp, practising throwing their reed spears; climbing the trees after the honey-pods, and indulging in a thousand and one merry pranks. Often and often I looked at those robust little rascals, and compared them sadly with my own children, who were delicate almost from birth, and who caused me so much anxiety and heartache.
When the combination of circumstances, which is now well known to my readers, caused me to settle in my mountain home, two or three hundred miles to the north of Gibson’s Desert, I had no idea that I should remain there for many years.
But strangely enough, as year after year slipped by, the desire to return to civilisation seemed to leave me, and I grew quite content with my lot. Gradually I began to feel that if civilisation—represented, say, by a large caravan—were to come to me, and its leader was willing not merely to take me away, but my wife and children also, then indeed I would consent to go; but for no other consideration could I be induced to leave those who were now so near and dear to me. I may as well mention here that I had many chances of returningaloneto civilisation, but never availed myself of them. As I spent the greater part of twenty years in my mountain home, it stands to reason that it is this part of my career which I consult for curious and remarkable incidents.
One day a great darkness suddenly came over the face of Nature. The sombre gloom was relieved only by a strange lurid glare, which hung on the distant horizon far away across that weird land. The air was soon filled with fine ashes, which descended in such quantities as to cover all vegetation, and completely hide exposed water-holes and lagoons. Even at the time I attributed the phenomenon to volcanic disturbance, and I have since found that it was most likely due to an eruption of the volcano of Krakatoa. This visitation occasioned very great consternation among the superstitious blacks, who concluded that the spirits had been angered by some of their own misdeeds, and were manifesting their wrath in this unpleasant way. I did not attempt to enlighten them as to its true cause, but gave them to understand vaguely that I had something to do with it. I also told them that the great spirit, whose representative I was, was burning up the land.
Another phenomenon that caused much mystification and terror was an eclipse of the sun. Never have I seen my blacks in such a state of excitement and terror as when that intense darkness came suddenly over the world at midday. They came crowding instinctively to me, and I stood silent among the cowering creatures, not thinking it politic for a moment to break the strange and appalling stillness that prevailed on every hand—and which extended even to the animal world. The trembling blacks were convinced that night had suddenly descended upon them, but they had no explanation whatever to offer. They seemed quite unfamiliar with the phenomenon, and it was apparently not one of those many things which their forefathers wove superstitious stories around, to hand down to their children. As the great darkness continued, the natives retired to rest, without even holding the usual evening chant. I did not attempt to explain the real reason of the phenomenon, but as I had no particular end to serve, I did not tell them that it was due to my power.
Never once, you see, did I lose an opportunity of impressing the savages among whom I dwelt. On several occasions, having all the ingredients at my disposal, I attempted to make gunpowder, but truth to tell, my experiments were not attended with very great success. I had charcoal, saltpetre, and sulphur ready to my hand,—all obtainable from natural sources close by; but the result of all my efforts (and I tried mixing the ingredients in every conceivable way) was a very coarse kind of powder with practically no explosive force, but which would go off with an absurd “puff.”
Now I was very anxious to make anexplosivepowder, not merely because it would assist me in impressing the blacks, but also because I proposed carrying out certain blasting operations in order to obtain minerals and stones which I thought would be useful. The net result was that although I could not manufacture any potent explosive, yet I did succeed in arousing the intense curiosity of the blacks. My powder burnt without noise, and the natives could never quite make out where the flame came from.
As there seemed to be a never-ending eagerness on the part of the blacks to witness the wonders of the white man, I even tried my hand at making ice—a commodity which is, of course, absolutely unknown in Central Australia. The idea came to me one day when I found myself in a very cool cave, in which there was a well of surprisingly cold water. Accordingly, I filled some opossum skins with the refreshing fluid, placed them in the coolest part of the cave, and then covered them with saltpetre, of which there was an abundance. When I tell you that the experiment was quite fruitless, you will readily understand that I did not always succeed in my rôle of wonder-worker. But whenever I was defeated, it only had the effect of making me set my wits to work to devise something still more wonderful—something which I was certain would be an assured success.
Whilst taking, a stroll in the region of my mountain home one day, my eyes—which were by this time almost as highly trained as those of the blacks themselves—suddenly fastened upon a thin stream of some greenish fluid which was apparently oozing out of the rocky ground. Closer investigation proved that this was not water. I collected a quantity of it in a kangaroo skin, but this took a considerable time, because the liquid oozed very slowly.
I would not have taken this trouble were it not that I was pretty certainI had discovered a spring of crude petroleum. Immediately, and by a kind of instinct, it occurred to me that I might make use of this oil as yet another means of impressing the blacks with my magical powers. I told no one of my discovery—not even Yamba. First of all I constructed a sort of raft from the branches of trees, thoroughly saturating each branch with the oil. I also placed a shallow skin reservoir of oil on the upper end of the raft, and concealed it with twigs and leaves. This done, I launched my interesting craft on the waters of the lagoon, having so far carried out all my preparations in the strictest secrecy. When everything was ready I sent out invitations by mail-men, smoke signals, and message sticks to tribes both far and near, to come and see meset fire to the water! In parentheses, I may remark, that with regard to smoke-signals, white smoke only is allowed to ascend in wreaths and curls; while black smoke is sent up in one great volume. As by this time my fame was pretty well established, the wonder-loving children of Nature lost no time in responding to the summons; and at length, when the mystic glow of a Central Australian evening had settled over the scene, a great gathering established itself on the shores of the lagoon. On such occasions, however, I always saw to it that my audience were not too near. But anyhow there was little chance of failure, because the blacks had long since grown to believe in me blindly and implicitly.
With much ceremony I set fire to the raft, hoisted a little bark sail upon it, and pushed it off. It lay very low in the water, and as the amazed onlookers saw it gliding across the placid waters of the lagoon enveloped in smoke and flames, they did actually believe that I had set fire to the water itself—particularly when the blazing oil was seen in lurid patches on the placid surface. They remained watching till the fire died down, when they retired to their own homes, more convinced than ever that the white man among them was indeed a great and powerful spirit.
But, human nature being fundamentally the same all the world over, it was natural enough—and, indeed, the wonder is how I escaped so long—that one or other of the tribal medicine-men should get jealous of my power and seek to overthrow me. Now, the medicine-man belonging to the tribe in my mountain home presently found himself (or fancied himself) under a cloud,—the reason, of course, being that my display of wonders far transcended anything which he himself could do. So my rival commenced an insidious campaign against me, trying to explain away every wonderful thing that I did, and assuring the blacks that if I were a spirit at all it was certainly a spirit of evil. He never once lost an opportunity of throwing discredit and ridicule upon me and my powers; and at length I discerned symptoms in the tribe which rendered it imperatively necessary that I should take immediate and drastic steps to overthrow my enemy, who, by the way, had commenced trying to duplicate every one of my tricks or feats. I gave the matter some little thought, and one day, whilst out on one of my solitary rambles, I came across a curious natural feature of the landscape, which suggested to me a novel and, I venture to say, remarkable solution of a very serious situation.
I suddenly found myself on the brink of a peculiar basin-like depression, which, from its obvious dampness and profusion of bush and cover, I at once recognised as the ideal abode of innumerable snakes. I marked the spot in my mind, and returned home, pondering the details of the dramatic victory I hoped to win. Day by day I returned to this depression and caught numerous black and carpet snakes. From each of these dangerous and poisonous reptiles I removed the poison fangs only; and then, after scoring it with a cross by means of my stiletto, I let it go, knowing that it would never leave a spot so ideal—from a snake’s point of view. I operated on a great number of the deadly reptiles in this way, but, of course there remained many who were not so treated; whilst several of my queer patients died outright under the operation. Needless to say, I might have met my own death in this extraordinary business had I not been assisted by my devoted wife. When we had finished our work, there was absolutely nothing in the appearance of the place to indicate that it was any different from its state when I first cast my eyes upon it.
Then, all being ready, I chose a specially dramatic moment at acorroboreeto challenge my rival in a war song, this challenge being substantially as follows: “You tell the people that you are as great as I—the all-powerful white spirit-man. Well, now, I offer you a formal challenge to perform the feat which I shall perform on a certain day and at a certain spot.” The day was the very next day, and the spot, the scene of my strange surgical operations upon the snakes. The effect of my challenge was magical.
The jealous medicine-man, boldly and openly challenged before the whole tribe, had no time to make up an evasive reply, and he accepted then and there. Urgent messages were despatched, by the fun-loving blacks, to all the tribes, so that we were pretty sure of a large and attentive audience. It was about midday when the ridge round the depression was crowded with expectant blacks, every one of whom dearly loved a contest, or competition, of whatever kind. I lost no time—for in love or war shilly-shallying is unknown among the blacks—but boldly leaped down into the hollow armed only with a reed whistle, which I had made for myself solely with the view of enticing the snakes from their holes. I cast a triumphant glance at my impassive rival, who, up to this moment, had not the faintest idea what the proposed ordeal was. I commenced to play as lively a tune as the limited number of notes in the whistle would allow, and before I had been playing many minutes the snakes came gliding out, swinging their heads backwards and forwards and from side to side as though they were under a spell. Selecting a huge black snake, who bore unobtrusively my safety mark, I pounced down upon him and presented my bare arm. After teasing the reptile two or three times I allowed him to strike his teeth deep into my flesh, and immediately the blood began to run. I also permitted several other fangless snakes to bite me until my arms and legs, breast and back, were covered with blood. Personally, I did not feel much the worse, as the bites were mere punctures, and I knew the selected reptiles to be quite innocuous. Several “unmarked” snakes, however, manifested an eager desire to join in the fun, and I had some difficulty in escaping their deadly attentions. I had to wave them aside with a stick.
All this time the blacks above me were yelling with excitement, and I am under the impression that several were lamenting my madness, whilst others were turning angrily upon my rival, and accusing him of having brought about my death. At a favourable moment I rushed up the ridge of the hollow and stood before the horrified medicine-man, who, in response to my triumphant demand to go and do likewise, returned a feeble and tremulous negative. Even he, I think, was now sincerely convinced that I possessed superhuman powers; but it would have been awkward had he come along when I was laboriously and surreptitiously extracting the poison fangs from the snakes, and placing my “hall mark” upon them.
His refusal cost him his prestige, and he was forthwith driven from the tribe as a fraud, whilst my fame rose higher than ever. The blacks now wished me to take over the office of medicine-man, but I declined to do so, and nominated instead a youth I had trained for the position. It may be necessary here to remark that the blacks, under no circumstances, kill a medicine-man. My defeated rival was a man of very considerable power, and I knew quite well that if I did not get the best of him he would havemedriven out of the tribe and perhaps speared.
Mention of the snake incident reminds me of a very peculiar and interesting sport which the blacks indulge in. I refer to fights between snakes and iguanas. These combats certainly afford very fine sport. The two creatures are always at mortal enmity with one another, but as a rule the iguana commences the attack, no matter how much bigger the snake may be than himself; or whether it is poisonous or not. I have seen iguanas attack black snakes from six feet to ten feet in length, whilst they themselves rarely measured more than three or four feet. As a rule the iguana makes a snapping bite at the snake a few inches below its head, and the latter instantly retaliates by striking its enemy with its poisonous fangs. Then an extraordinary thing happens. The iguana will let go his hold and straightway make for a kind of fern, which he eats in considerable quantities, the object of this being to counteract the effects of the poison. When he thinks he has had enough of the antidote he rushes back to the scene of the encounter and resumes the attack;the snake always waits there for him. Again and again the snake bites the iguana, and as often the latter has recourse to the counteracting influences of the antidote. The fight may last for upwards of an hour, but eventually the iguana conquers. The final struggle is most exciting. The iguana seizes hold of the snake five or six inches below the head, and this time refuses to let go his hold, no matter how much the snake may struggle and enwrap him in its coils. Over and over roll the combatants, but the grip of the iguana is relentless; and the struggles of the snake grow weaker, until at length he is stretched out dead. Then the triumphant iguana steals slowly away.
The spectators would never dream of killing him,—partly on account of their admiration for his prowess, but more particularly because his flesh is tainted with poison from the repeated snake bites. These curious fights generally take place near water-holes.
I have also seen remarkable combats between snakes of various species and sizes. A small snake will always respond to the challenge of a much larger one, this challenge taking the form of rearing up and hissing. The little snake will then advance slowly towards its opponent and attempt to strike, but, as a rule, the big one crushes it before it can do any harm. I had often heard of the joke about two snakes of equal size trying to swallow one another, and was, therefore, the more interested when I came across this identical situation in real life. One day, right in my track, lay two very large snakes which had evidently been engaged in a very serious encounter; and the victor had commenced swallowing his exhausted adversary. He had disposed of some three or four feet of that adversary’s length when I arrived on the scene, and was evidently resting before taking in the rest. I easily made prisoners of both.
Not long after this incident a delusive hope was held out to me that I might be able to return to civilisation. News was brought one day that the tracks of some strange and hitherto unknown animals had been found to the north, and, accompanied by Yamba, I went off to inspect them. I found that they were camel tracks—for the second time; and as Yamba informed me that, from the appearance of the trail, there was no one with them, I concluded that in all probability the creatures were wild, having long ago belonged to some exploring party which had come to grief.
“Here at length,” I thought, “is the means of returning to civilisation. If I can only reach these creatures—and why should I not with so much assistance at my disposal?—I will break them in, and then strike south across the deserts with my wife and family.” I returned to the camp, and taking with me a party of the most intelligent tribesmen, set off after the wild camels. When we had been several days continuously tracking we came up with the beasts. There were four of them altogether, and right wild and vicious-looking brutes they were. They marched close together in a band, and never parted company. The moment I and my men tried to separate and head them off, the leader would swoop down upon us with open mouth, and the result of this appalling apparition was that my black assistants fled precipitately. Alone I followed the camels for several days in the hope of being able ultimately to drive them into some ravine, where I thought I might possibly bring them into a state of subjection by systematic starvation. But it was a vain effort on my part. They kept in the track of water-holes, and wandered on from one to the other at considerable speed.
At length I abandoned hope altogether, though not without a feeling of sore disappointment, as I watched the curious, ungainly creatures disappearing over the ridge of a sand-hill. Of course I took good care not to tell any of the natives the real reason of my desire to possess a camel,—though I did try to explain to them some of the uses to which people in other parts of the world put these wonderful animals.
I never lost an opportunity of leaving records wherever I could. As I have said before, I was constantly blazing trees and even making drawings upon them; and I would have left records in cairns had I been able to make any writing material. Talking about this, I was for a long time possessed with the desire to make myself a kind of paper, and I frequently experimented with the fibres of a certain kind of tree. This material I reduced to a pulp, and then endeavoured to roll into sheets. Here again, however, I had to confess failure. I found the ordinary sheets of bark much more suitable for my purpose.
Pens I had in thousands from the quills of the wild swan and goose; and I made ink from the juice of a certain dark-coloured berry, mixed with soot, which I collected on the bottom of my gold cooking-kettle. I also thought it advisable to make myself plates from which to eat my food—not because of any fastidiousness on my part, but from that ever-present desire to impress the blacks, which was now my strongest instinct. In the course of my ramblings in the northern regions I came across quantities of silver-lead, which I smelted with the object of obtaining lead to beat out into plates. I also went some hundreds of miles for the sake of getting copper, and found great quantities of ores of different kinds in the Kimberley district.
A very strange experience befell Yamba not long after I had settled down among the blacks in my mountain home; and it serves to illustrate the strictness with which the laws against poaching are observed. The incident I am about to relate concerned me very nearly, and might have cost me my life as well as my wife. Well, it happened that Yamba and I were one day returning from one of the many “walkabouts” which we were constantly undertaking alone and with natives, and which sometimes extended over several weeks and even months. We had pitched our camp for the afternoon, and Yamba went off, as usual, in search of roots and game for the evening meal. She had been gone some little time when I suddenly heard her well-known “coo-eey” and knowing that she must be in trouble of some kind, I immediately grasped my weapons and went off to her rescue, guiding myself by her tracks.
A quarter of a mile away I came upon a scene that filled me with amazement. There was Yamba—surely the most devoted wife a man, civilised or savage, ever had—struggling in the midst of quite a crowd of blacks, who were yelling and trying forcibly to drag her away. At once I saw what had happened. Yamba had been hunting for roots over the boundary of territory belonging to a tribe with whom we had not yet made friends; and as she had plainly been guilty of the great crime of trespass, she was, according to inviolable native law, confiscated by those who had detected her. I rushed up to the blacks and began to remonstrate with them in their own tongue, but they were both truculent and obstinate, and refused to release my now weeping and terrified Yamba. At last we effected a compromise,—I agreeing to accompany the party, with their captive, back to their encampment, and there have the matter settled by the chief. Fortunately we had not many miles to march, but, as I anticipated, the chief took the side of his own warriors, and promptly declared that he would appropriate Yamba for himself. I explained to him, but in vain, that my wife’s trespass was committed all unknowingly, and that had I known his tribe were encamped in the district, I would have come immediately and stayed with them a few nights.
As showing what a remarkable person I was, I went through part of my acrobatic repertoire; and even my poor eager Bruno, who evidently scented trouble, began on his own account to give a hurried and imperfect show. He stood on his head and tumbled backwards and forwards in a lamentably loose and unscientific manner, barking and yelling all the time.
I do not know whether the wily chief had made up his mind to see more of us or not; but at any rate he looked at me very fiercely as though determined to carry his point, and then replied that there was but one law—which was that Yamba should be confiscated for poaching, whether the crime was intentional on her part or not. So emphatically was this said that I began to think I had really lost my faithful companion for ever. As this awful thought grew upon me, and I pondered over the terrible past, I made up my mind that if necessary I would lose my own life in her defence, and to this end I adopted a very haughty attitude, which caused the chief suddenly to discover a kind of by-law to the effect that in such cases as this one the nearest relative of the prisoner might win her back by fighting for her. This, of course, was what I wanted, above all things—particularly as the old chief had not as yet seen me use my wonderful weapons. And as I felt certain he would choose throwing spears, I knew that victory was mine. He selected, with a critical eye, three well-made spears, whilst I chose three arrows, which I purposely brandished aloft, so as to give my opponent the impression that they were actually small spears, and were to be thrown, as such, javelin-fashion. The old chief and his blacks laughed heartily and pityingly at this exhibition, and ridiculed the idea that I could do any damage with such toy weapons.
The demeanour of the chief himself was eloquent of the good-humoured contempt in which he held me as an antagonist; and a distance of twenty paces having been measured out, we took our places and prepared for the dramatic encounter, upon which depended something more precious to me than even my own life. Although outwardly cool and even haughty, I was really in a state of most terrible anxiety. I fixed my eyes intently upon the spare but sinewy chief, and without moving a muscle allowed him to throw his spears first. The formidable weapons came whizzing through the air with extraordinary rapidity one after the other; but long experience of the weapon and my own nimbleness enabled me to avoid them. But no sooner had I stepped back into position for the third time than, with lightning dexterity, I unslung my bow and let fly an arrow at my antagonist which I had purposely made heavier than usual by weighting it with fully an ounce of gold. Naturally he failed to see the little feathered shaft approach, and it pierced him right in the fleshy part of the left thigh—exactly where I intended. The chief leaped from the ground more in surprise than pain, as though suddenly possessed by an evil spirit. His warriors, too, were vastly impressed. As blood was drawn in this way, honour and the law were alike supposed to be satisfied, so Yamba was immediately restored to me, trembling and half afraid to credit her own joyful senses.
My readers will, perhaps, wonder why these cannibal savages did not go back on their bargain and refuse to give her up, even after I had vanquished their chief in fair fight; but the honourable course they adopted is attributable solely to their own innate sense of fair-play, and their admiration for superior prowess and skill.
Why, when the chief had recovered from his astonishment he came up to me, and greeted me warmly, without even taking the trouble to remove my arrow from his bleeding thigh! We became the very best of friends; and Yamba and I stayed with him for some days as his guests. When at length we were obliged to leave, he gave me quite an imposing escort, as though I were a powerful friendly chief who had done him a great service!
Mosquitoes and leeches—I explain pictures—An awkward admission—My great portrait—The stomach as a deity—The portrait a success—A colossal statue of “H. R. H.”—Fish without eyes—A sad reflection—A strange illusion—A grave danger—I sink a well—“Universal provider”—A significant phenomenon—Bruno as accomplice—I find Bruno dead.
I must say I was not very much troubled with mosquitoes in my mountain home, and as I had endured dreadful torments from these insects whilst at Port Essington and other swampy places, I had good reason to congratulate myself. Whilst crossing some low country on one occasion I was attacked by these wretched pests, whose bite penetrated even the clay covering that protected my skin. Even the blacks suffered terribly, particularly about the eyes. I, however, had taken the precaution to protect my eyes by means of leaves and twigs. At Port Essington the mosquitoes were remarkably large, and of a greyish colour. They flew about literally in clouds, and it was practically impossible to keep clear of them.
The natives treated the bites with an ointment made from a kind of penny-royal herb and powdered charcoal. Talking about pests, in some parts the ants were even more terrible than the mosquitoes, and I have known one variety—a reddish-brown monster, an inch long—to swarm over and actually kill children by stinging them. Another pest was the leech. It was rather dangerous to bathe in some of the lagoons on account of the leeches that infested the waters. Often in crossing a swamp I would feel a slight tickling sensation about the legs, and on looking down would find my nether limbs simply coated with these loathsome creatures. The remarkable thing was, that whilst the blacks readily knew when leeches attacked them, I would be ignorant for quite a long time, until I had grown positively faint from loss of blood. Furthermore, the blacks seemed to think nothing of their attacks, but would simply crush them on their persons in the most nonchalant manner. Sometimes they scorch them off their bodies by means of a lighted stick—a kind office which Yamba performed for me. The blacks had very few real cures for ailments, and such as they had were distinctly curious. One cure for rheumatism was to roll in the black, odourless mud at the edge of a lagoon, and then bask in the blazing sun until the mud became quite caked upon the person.
The question may be asked whether I ever tried to tell my cannibals about the outside world. My answer is, that I only told them just so much as I thought their childish imaginations would grasp. Had I told them more, I would simply have puzzled them, and what they do not understand they are apt to suspect.
Thus, when I showed them pictures of horse-races and sheep farms in the copy of the SydneyTown and Country Journalwhich I had picked up, I was obliged to tell them that horses were used only in warfare, whilst sheep were used only as food. Had I spoken about horses as beasts of burden, and told them what was done with the wool of the sheep, they would have been quite unable to grasp my meaning, and so I should have done myself more harm than good. They had ideas of their own about astronomy; the fundamental “fact” being that the earth was perfectly flat, the sky being propped up by poles placed at the edges, and kept upright by the spirits of the departed—who, so the medicine-man said, were constantly being sent offerings of food and drink. The Milky Way was a kind of Paradise of souls; whilst the sun was the centre of the whole creation.
I had often puzzled my brain for some method whereby I could convey to these savages some idea of the magnitude of the British Empire. I always had theBritishEmpire in my mind, not only because my sympathies inclined that way, but also because I knew that the first friends to receive me on my return to civilisation must necessarily be British. Over and over again did I tell the childish savages grouped around me what a mighty ruler was the Sovereign of the British Empire, which covered the whole world. Also how that Sovereignhad sent me as a special ambassador, to describe to them the greatness of the nation of which they formed part. Thus you will observe I never let my blacks suspect I was a mere unfortunate, cast into their midst by a series of strange chances. I mentioned the whole world because nothing less than this would have done. Had I endeavoured to distinguish between the British Empire and, say, the German, I should have again got beyond my hearers’ depth, so to speak, and involved myself in difficulties.
Half instinctively, but without motive, I refrained from mentioning that the ruler of the British Empire wasa woman, but this admission dropped from me accidentally one day, and then—what a falling off was there! I instantly recognised the mistake I had made from the contemptuous glances of my blacks. And although I hastened to say that she was a mighty chieftainess, upon whose dominions the sun never set; and that she was actually the direct ruler of the blacks themselves, they repudiated her with scorn, and contemned me for singing the praises of a mere woman. I had to let this unfortunate matter drop for a time, but the subject was ever present in my mind, and I wondered how I could retrieve my position (and her Majesty’s) without eating my words. At length one day Yamba and I came across a curious rugged limestone region, which was full of caves. Whilst exploring these we came upon a huge, flat, precipitous surface of rock, and then—how or why, I know not—the idea suddenly occurred to me todraw a gigantic portrait of her Most Gracious Majesty Queen Victoria! At this period, I should mention, I was a recognised chief, and periodically—once every new moon—I gave a kind of reception to my people, and also to the neighbouring tribes. At this interesting function I would always contrive to have some new wonder to unfold. My visitors never outstayed their welcome, and I always managed to have an abundance of food for them.
Well, I came upon the cave region a few weeks after my unfortunate blunder about the Queen; and I determined to have my great portrait ready for the next reception day. Taking some blocks of stone of handy size, I first wetted the surface of the rock and then commenced to rub it, until I had a pretty smooth face to work upon. This took some time, but whilst I was doing it Yamba got ready the necessary charcoal sticks and pigments such as the blacks decorate themselves with atcorroborees. I had a slight knowledge of drawing, and climbing up on some projecting stones I commenced to draw in bold, sweeping outline, what I venture to describe as the most extraordinary portrait of Queen Victoria on record. The figure, which was in profile, was perhaps seven feet or eight feet high, and of more than equally extravagant proportions in other respects. Of course, the figure had to be represented entirely without clothing, otherwise the blacks would simply have been puzzled. Now to describe the portrait as much in detail as I dare. The crown was composed of rare feathers such as only a redoubtable and cunning hunter could obtain; and it included feathers of the lyre-bird and emu. The sceptre was a stupendous gnarled waddy or club, such as could be used with fearful execution amongst one’s enemies. The nose was very large, because this among the blacks indicates great endurance; whilst the biceps were abnormally developed. In fact, I gave her Majesty as much muscle as would serve for half-a-dozen professional pugilists or “strong men.” The stomach was much distended, and when I state this fact I am sure it will excite much curiosity as to the reason why.
Well, as the stomach is practically the greatest deity these savages know, and as food is often very hard to obtain, they argue that a person with a very full stomach must necessarily be a daring and skilful hunter, otherwise he would not be able to get much food to put into it.
This extraordinary portrait was finally daubed and decorated with brilliant pigments and glaring splashes of yellow, red, and blue. I also used a kind of vivid red dye obtained from the sap of a certain creeper which was bruised between heavy stones. I spent perhaps a week or a fortnight on this drawing (I could not give all day to it, of course); and the only persons who knew of its existence were my own children and women-folk. After the completion of the great portrait, I went away, and waited impatiently for my next reception day. When the wonder-loving blacks were again before me I told them that I had a remarkable picture of the great British Queen to show them, and then, full of anticipation and childish delight, they trooped after me to the spot where I had drawn the great picture on the rocks. It is no exaggeration to say that the crowd of cannibals stood and squatted in front of my handiwork simply speechless with amazement. Eventually they burst out into cries of wonderment, making curious guttural sounds with their lips, and smacking their thighs in token of their appreciation. I pointed out every detail—the immense size of the great Queen, and the various emblems of her power; and at last, stepping back from the rock, I sang “God save the Queen,” the beautiful national hymn of Great Britain, which I had learned from the two ill-fated girls, and which, you will remember, has the same air as that of a Swiss song.
The general effect not merely removed any bad impression that might have been created with regard to my damaging admission about the sex of the great ruler; it more than re-established me in my old position, and I followed up my success by assuring them that her Majesty included in her retinue of servants a greater number of persons than was represented in the whole tribe before me. Furthermore, I assured them that whilst the mountain home I had built was very large (judged by their standard), the house of Queen Victoria was big enough to hold a whole nation of blacks.
In order to give you some idea of the nervous horror I had of losing prestige, I may tell you that, far from being satisfied with what I had done to vindicate the great Sovereign whose special ambassador I was supposed to be, I soon decided to give yet another demonstration which should impress even those who were inclined to cavil—if any such existed. I pointed out that whilst the Queen, great and powerful and beloved ruler though she was, could not lead her warriors into battle in person, yet she was represented in war time by her eldest son, who was a most redoubtable warrior and spear-thrower, and acted on behalf of his illustrious mother on all occasions when she could not appear. But as mention of the Prince of Wales called for a demonstration ofhispersonality also, I determined to make another experiment in portraiture,—this time in the direction of sculpture. I think it was having come across a very damp country, abounding in plastic clay, that put this idea into my head. First of all, then, I cut down a stout young sapling, which, propped up in the ground, served as the mainstay of my statue; and from it I fastened projecting branches for the arms and legs.