Folk Lore
The Cockatoo’s Nest
A Strange Fish
A Love Story
The Old-woman Ghost
The Clever Mother Spider
A Brave Little Brother
The Suake’s Journey
The Marutchi and Bugawan
The Bittern’s Idea of a Joke
A Faithful Bride
The Dog and the Kangaroo
The Cause of the Bar in South Passage
It may surprise some people to learn that the aborigines had their “fairy tales” just as we have, and these they used to repeat one to the other even as we do. The name they gave a tale mog-wi-dan.” “Mogwi” meant ghost in the Turrbal language (though it was “makuran” further north), therefore I suppose the tales were really “ghost yarns.” Here are some of them, taken, however, of late years from the blacks (and related as told); for my father did not pay much attention to their stories in the old times :-
THE COCKATOO’S NEST.
Once upon a time there lived happily together on an island three young aborigines, a brother and two sisters. This island was not very far from the mainland, and the three often used to gaze across at the long stretch of land, and think of journeying forth from their island home to see what it was like over there. They felt sure they would find lots of nice things to eat. So one day, by means of a canoe, they really did cross over, and began without loss of time to seek for ‘possums, native bears, and so forth. In this search round about they at length espied a hollow limb, which looked uncommonly like a place where a nest would be, and so, going into the scrub near by, they cut a vine for climbing. Coming back to the tree, the young fellow climbed up, while his sisters waited beneath. When he had cut open the limb, he found to his joy a cockatoo’s nest with young birds in it, and these latter he proceeded to throw down one by one to his sisters, the fall to the ground killing the poor little things.
Now it so chanced that as the young blackfellow picked up the last little bird from the nest, a feather detached itself from its tail, and floating away on the air at length settled fair on the chest of an old man asleep in a hut some distance away. This old man was really a sort of ghost who owned the place, and the feather disturbed his rest, and woke him up. Divining at once what was happening, he arose, and, getting hold of a spear and a tomahawk, sallied forth to the tree, where he arrived before the young fellow had started to climb down. Seeing the birds dead, the old man was very angry, and said, “What business you take my birds? Who told you to come here?” And he commanded the tree to spread out and out, and grow tall and taller, so that the young fellow could not get down, and, taking the dead birds, he put them in a big round dilly, and carried them to his hut.
Although the old man did not wait, the tree did his bidding, becoming immediately very wide and tall, and the young fellow tried his best to get down, but could not. So at last he started to sing and sing to the other trees all round about to come to him, which they did, and one falling right across where he stood, he was able to get to the ground that way. Somehow, though, in coming down he got hurt, and the gins bad to make a fire to get hot ashes in order to cover him up in these. He lay covered up so for about half-an-hour, at the end of which time he was all right again.
Of course these three felt very indignant at the old man’s behaviour, and they thirsted for revenge. So calling all the birds of the air to them, they sought their assistance. These birds went in front, while the three cut their way through the thick vine scrub to the old man’s hut, and ever as they went, to drown the noise of the cutting, the birds sang loudly, the wonga pigeon especially making a tremendous row with his waugh! waugh! waugh! When they had got nearly to the hut, the old man, who had been trying to make up for his disturbed sleep, heard the noise of the birds, and called crossly to them, “Here, what do you make such a noise for? I want to sleep!” But even as he spoke he was dozing, and presently went off right, suspecting nothing, and when the blacks reached the doorway, looking in, they saw him quite soundly sleeping. So the three clutched their weapons tightly, the man his spear, and the women their yamsticks, and advancing into the hut, they all together viciously jobbed down at the old man, and lo and behold he was dead! His body was dragged forth then and burned, and after the hut was robbed of the young cockatoos and all objects worthy of value, it also was burnt, and the three blacks found their way back to the canoe, and departed home to their island, laden with the spoil.
A STRANGE FISH.
On Bribie Island once two young gins were wandering round, and ended by losing themselves. When they found that they were really lost, they were somewhere about the middle of the island, at a place where lots of grass trees grew. This place is still to be seen. Wasting no time in idly crying over spilt milk” these gins-two sisters-began to look round for suitable camping ground, and coming to some saltwater lagoons, they built their hut on a dry part near by. Then leaving everything snug, they went to see if there were any fish in the lagoons that they could spear. They looked and looked, but could find nothing except one great big round peculiar fish, which was the shape of the moon. So with their yamsticks they speared this fish, and capturing it carried it to the camp, where they made a big fire, and got plenty of nice red-hot ashes. Opening out these ashes they put in the fish, and then covered it up like a damper, and left it there to cook, while they both went off to seek some “bangwal” to eat with it.
Returning, to their dismay, this pair found the fish had gone the heat had brought it back to life again! There were its tracks plainly showing the gins could see the ashes it had dropped all along as it went. So they followed these tracks, and presently espied the fish against a big bloodwood tree-half way up the trunk. One of the gins, therefore, went back for the yamsticks they had left behind in their hurry, while the other stayed to watch, and on the former’s return, they both tried to spear the fish, and pelted sticks at it, and did their very best, but to no purpose; it kept going gradually up and up. This made the gins feel very disgusted, and sad, too, because they had lost their feed, and one said to the other, “Sister, one of us should have stopped and watched that fish, then it would not have got away.” The thought of the meal they had lost was too much for them, and after a little they broke down and wailed and sobbed with the pain of it! However, they waited for the rest of the day, looking now and then helplessly at the tree.
Towards dusk, what was the gins’ astonishment on looking up once more, to see the fish actually travelling westwards in the sky. They stood and gazed open-mouthed some few minutes, then giving up all idea of ever again capturing such a strange fish as that, they left, and went back to the camp.
Next morning these sisters went out on to the main beach to gather yugaries there. The elder sister, by the way, had a little son with her-just a baby-and this child they left on the beach when the yugaries were gathered, covered with a ‘possum rug, while they went to get more “bangwal,” meaning not to be long away. However, during their absence the tide came up, and the child was washed over by the waves and covered with sand, and on the women’s return they only found him by one little foot sticking out. Of course, they were in a great way at this, and, digging the little dead thing out, they carefully buried him beyond the water’s reach. Then, feeling restless, they travelled on and away along the main beach till they came opposite to Caloundra, where they swam the channel. Here on the mainland they found some fine caves, and camped in one of these for the night-this very same cave is still in existence.
Next day, travelling on again, the gins camped in another cave, and so they journeyed along the beach, till at length they came to Mooloolah Heads. Again they swam and so got to the Maroochy beach, and when they had come opposite the island” Mudjimba “–some people call it ” Old Woman’s Island”-they saw a great long “bon-yi” log (gigantic it must have been) stretching away from where they stood to the island. Thinking at once that it would be nice to find what the island was like, the gins crossed over on this log, when, lo and behold, the moment they stepped ashore it vanished and was gone. They knew that they were stuck there then, and said one to the other, “How do you like this place? We had better make up our minds to live here, because we can’t swim ashore.” Her sister answered, “What will we get to eat?” “Oh, whatever we can find, “winnam” (breadfruit), and fish and crabs.” Looking up she saw the moon. “Oh, look, look, sister, there’s the fish we killed!” This made the other feel sad, and every night through the long, long time that followed, whenever there was a moon, these two thought it their fish, and sometimes they laughed and said it looked funny seeing only half a fish! And they are there on that island yet; and always in the middle of the day smoke can be seen rising from their fires, though they themselves are invisible.
A LOVE STORY.
A little mouse or “kuril” (kureel) had a big round humpy, and in it she sat day by day making dillies. She was left all alone there for a long time, for her friends and relations had all gone off to a “bon-yi” feast. Now, it so happened that there was a young fellow among her acquaintances who liked her very much, and as he travelled along with all the others he began to miss his little friend. At first he had thought that she was somewhere among the crowd, but finding this was not so, he at length turned back all by himself to seek her. He was armed with a tomahawk, a spear and shield, and waddy, and was able to get ‘possums and honey, etc., on the journey back. The way was long, and it took him some little time, but he came bravely laden with all sorts of dainties for his lady love.
Imagine the latter sitting in her hut, weaving dillies. She had made quite a number, when all at once everything seemed to go wrong. The string kept breaking, and breaking, and breaking, and she simply could not do a stitch correctly. She began to feel flustered, and wondered what on earth was the matter, and yet all the time she knew quite well that “some one” was coming near and nearer. At length, about four or five o’clock in the afternoon, the young man arrived, and found his little girl sitting with lowered head over her work. His shadow fell and darkened the doorway, and, looking up, she saw him there, and, silly child, she fainted! “What is the matter?” he asked. But she did not answer for a long time, and then, “What you come for?” “I come for you.” “What for?” And he replied, “To marry you. Your father and mother promised you to me long ago. I suppose you hungry?” “Yes,” she mur- mured; and he gave her some food, tenderly, let us hope. Then the young fellow said, “We better travel to-morrow and join the rest of them.” So next morning she went off with him, leaving all her dillies and belongings. They were about a week travelling until they came to their friends, by whom they were welcomed, and the young girl was satisfied to learn from her people that it was even as her sweetheart had said they had been chosen for each other when quite young.
THE OLD-WOMAN GHOST.
A married couple once were left all alone to camp by them- selves, the rest of the tribe having gone travelling to a fight. Now these two used to go out every day seeking food, and they were especially in the habit of going to the scrub for grubs in the dead trees there. One night the man lay dreaming, and as he dreamt he fancied they were again in the scrub, and while in the middle of getting out a grub his tomahawk slipped and cut his wife very badly on the chest. Waking in the morning, he informed his wife he had had a bad dream, and when she asked what it was, told her, and added she had better stay at home that day. But no, she said she would go, and, getting her own way, she went. While in the scrub she kept running to pick up the grubs which fell from the rotten wood as he chopped, and, thinking of his dream, he warned her “Keep away, keep away, the tomahawk may slip and cut you.” However, she foolishly persisted in coming near, and at last what the man feared really happened the tomahawk slipped and cut her a frightful gash across the chest. So he bound her up very carefully, and, carrying her home, put her to bed. Three days and nights he nursed her, and she was so ill that he thought she was going to die, and began to think he had better let her people know. He suggested this to her, and she said, “Yes, you go and bring them-I be alright here.” So, as he had a good way to go, the husband made a nice, snug hut before leaving, and filled it with all sorts of things food, wood, and water, all ready to her hand.
The poor thing was not to be left in peace, however, for when the husband was gone, and she all alone, the old woman, half-devil sort of ghost of the place, thinking she smelt some- thing, came along and called from the outside of the hut, “Barbang!” Now “Barbang” meant “grandmother,” and so the woman inside answered, “If you are my grand- mother, come in.” The old woman went in, and said she, “What is the matter with you?” The other showed her wound. “I’ll suck it and make it better,” said the hag. So she sucked and sucked, and began to tear and bite at the flesh as well, and the sick woman lying bearing this, knew then who it was she had to deal with, and if she wasn’t careful she would be eaten up altogether. Politely she thanked her visitor, saying she felt easier, and asked where the old woman was camped. “Oh, not far. I have a little daughter there.” “Well, you go and bring her, and come and stop with me and keep me company. Don’t be long.” At this the old woman went off, thinking she’d come back provided with weapons, and, sneaking in, would “do the deed.”. The moment she had gone, however, the sick woman got up, the thoughts of what might happen giving her strength; and, getting a hollow log, placed it where she had been lying on the floor, and, covering it up with ‘possum rugs, made it look like herself. Then she told the log to moan and moan as if in pain, and, hurriedly leaving the hut, went to try and follow her husband.
By and bye the old hag turned up again. As she drew near the hut she heard the moans of pain, and her mouth watered, and she smacked her lips, thinking, “My word, I’ll have a good feed!” The log called out, “Come along, grandmother. Why have you been so long?” And the grandmother came along, and entering the hut, quickly went up to the heap of rugs, and plunging downwards with her yamstick, stooped, and started to bite and worry with her teeth. She found her mistake then, and set up an awful cry of rage and disgust, moaning at the good feed she’d lost. “Oh, how stupid of me to go away; why didn’t I wait and watch her?” And she was so wild and bloodthirsty, that, after she had looked for tracks and couldn’t find them- for the sick woman had jumped along in the grass on purpose -she went home, and killed and ate her own daughter. Whether the wounded one eventually reached her husband, or failed by the way, history omits to tell us.
THE CLEVER MOTHER SPIDER.
A big spider had her nest in the ground, with its neatly. finished trap door. She had a number of children, this old spider, and sometimes would shut them all safely in, while she herself sat outside singing in the sunshine. At other times she allowed them out hunting, and then the youngsters would roam all round about everywhere, enjoying themselves mightily and coming home laden with ‘possums and other food, when they would have a good feast, and afterwards be ordered to bed and shut up for the night.
Now, there were some strange men who wanted to get hold of these spiders, and the old woman knowing this laid her plans accordingly. When she thought they were coming, she got all her brood inside and shut the door. It was such a dear, neat little door that one could hardly see it when shut up. Then the mother set to, and made fires all round about in a circle, so that the strangers coming would think they (the spiders), were sitting round these fires. The clever old thing sang then to herself, so happy was she that her children were safe, and climbing up and up by means of a web, she sat overhead, and when the strange men came, pricked her body and sent down blood on to them, and they were thus poisoned and died. Even so did this clever old spider get rid of her enemies.
A BRAVE LITTLE BROTHER.
A mother and father once had occasion to go a long way off, and leave behind them till their return their two children -a young girl and her little brother. These two, during their parents’ absence, went into the scrub to look for yam roots; the sister dug for them, while the boy, who was only a little chap, played on a log and danced and sang. He sang so merrily that the sister became afraid, and asked him to “sing softly,” for fear a strange blackfellow would come along, and, killing him, take her away. He promised, “All right, sister; don’t you be afraid.” And he sang very gently and softly for quite a long time, till forgetting, his song got the better of him again, and he sang loudly once more.
A second time the sister remonstrated, and again the boy was quietened, only, however, to forget, as before. This time his song did attract a strange man, who came and caught hold of the girl’s arm and started dragging her away. The poor little boy said pitifully to him, “Oh, don’t drag her like that!” But the man took no notice of the child, and went on dragging. So, as he was stooping down to do this, the little fellow went behind and struck with all his might at the back of the man’s neck with a “bakkan” (instrument sharp-pointed like a pick), and killed him. “You see,” said the boy, who was jubilant then, “I’m not frightened of blackfellows; I can fight them!” And his sister answered, “Oh, but two or three may come, and then you will be killed.” So the boy said he would be quiet, and he was for some time, but in the end forgot again.
In the meantime the spirit of the dead man went and told his mates that there was a girl and little boy in the scrub, the girl digging for yams, and the boy singing and playing on a log, and the little chap must be an awful little thing, for he had killed him. So two or three went together, and took a dog with them, and coming to the scrub, started to “sule” the animal on to the boy. The poor little chap got frightened, and begged, “Oh, don’t send on the dog! Don’t! Don’t!” But fancy showing mercy to a venomous little thing who had killed their mate! The child was hunted and killed, and the sister was carried off.
THE SNAKE’S JOURNEY.
A very long time ago a carpet snake and a black snake started out in a canoe, in time of flood, from the mouth of the Pine River. Marvellous as it may seem, their canoe was just a shell of the Moreton Bay chesnut (“mai”)- probably a gigantic one! The black snake was ill, so the carpet snake had to do all the work in managing the boat, also he kept a sharp lookout on a native dog who swam and swam after them trying to catch them. The way was long, and the current was strong, and they were tossed this way and that, but ever just behind came the dog, swimming and swimming all the time, though he couldn’t manage to catch up. What a queer sight it must have been, if only some one could have seen it! The two snakes in their tiny canoe; and the dog paddling close behind, despairingly, frantically, as though for very life, in the strong deep water. At length the current took them to Moreton Island, where they landed, the snakes first, who left the canoe and went up on to dry land; then the dog, who was so greatly exhausted with his swimming, that he just lay down on the beach and expired.
Snakes are not supposed to be able to smile, but these two did, when, on coming back to seek their canoe, they saw the carcass of the dog! However, their boat was washed away, and they had therefore no means of getting home again. Where they had landed was what is now known. as an end of Moreton Island, near South Passage. In those days there was no passage, but one long island, so the snakes bethought them to travel along this island, and see what they could do that way. Coming at last, after a weary time, opposite Southport, they swam across to the mainland, so determined were they to get back again to their own home, that they journeyed from there overland to the Pine River.
THE “MARUTCHI” AND THE “BUGAWAN.”
Once upon a time, a black swan (” marutchi “) and a fish- hawk (“bugawan”), who were cousins, were playing together on the beach, when their companions all went off without their knowledge, travelling to get “bon-yi” nuts, etc. The hawk was painted red with a white neck, and the swan black with a red nose. When these two found they had missed the others, they knew it was no use going after them that night, but it would be better to wait till the morning. So when morning came, “What shall we do? I can’t fly,” said the swan. (It was moulting season.) And the hawk replied, “Well, it’s not easy for me to walk.” “Never mind,” said the swan, ” You will just have to walk and keep me company.” So they walked, following in the track of their friends all the way.
For a long long time they went on and on-it must have been for a couple of months-and every night they camped where their friends had camped, without seeming to come nearer to them. At last they came to a mob of strangers fighting with their own people, so pausing before showing themselves, they painted and “did up,” even as blackfellows do, and then went forward amongst the fighters. They were armed with boomerangs, spears, and shields, and they fell to and fiercely fought the strangers. Before their advent the enemy were getting the better of it, but no sooner did these two appear on the scene, than the tide turned, and instead of their friends gradually losing ground, the enemy were beaten further and further back on all sides to their mountains and ridges, and rivers, and scrubs. It was all quite the work of these two new comers–this victory- and their friends thought them just wonderful, and ever afterwards looked upon them as “great men.”
THE BITTERN’S IDEA OF A JOKE.
One of those birds with a long beak, which sits and watches for fish-in fact a bittern-once set a dugong net at ” Dumba ” (part of Stradbroke Island). Next morning, to his delight, when he went to look at the net, he found he had been successful, and had caught a dugong. So he set to work, and fastened it to his canoe.
Now he had a lot of companions, this bittern, and he knew very well that they would all look forward keenly to a feast, therefore he made up his mind to have some fun with them first. So he got them all to get into their canoes, and leading the way, set off, towing the dugong behind him. They kept along the shore for a long, long way, and at length came to Russell Island, and landing there made a camp. Of course, every one looked forward to seeing the dugong cooked. But no, it was left in the water, and next morning they all were obliged to follow the owner in another journey to another landing place. This time it was Coochimudlo. Seeing that the dugong was still left in the water they all asked where it was to be cooked? “Oh,” was the reply, “I don’t know yet, we will go further on.” So on and on they went from Coochimudlo to Peel Island, and from there to Green Island, then afterwards to St. Helena, and at each place they camped, and were disappointed again and again, for the dugong remained in the water. However, at St. Helena, the owner, looking all round him, said, “Well, chaps, Mud Island is the last island-we will cut up the dugong there, and have a feed.” They were all exceedingly glad to hear this, for they were hungry, and had had about enough of travelling about in such an absurd fashion. So landing at Mud Island, the dugong was rolled up on shore, and a big fire was made, and he was roasted and cut up, and divided out to all-young and old-who had followed.
Whilst the enjoyment of eating was in full swing, what should happen but that the old woman ghost of the island should sniff the air, and she said to herself, ” There must be something nice near at hand, I’ll go and see.” So arriving on the scene, she greeted them all with, “Hullo, my grandchildren, I’m living here, and am hungry, give me some food.” They gave her something, and the old thing, making a pretence of going off for a dilly, went really to lay plans for the capture of all the flesh. But they suspected this, so the moment her back was turned, hastily got into their canoes, and made off with it all. Coming back, she found they had gone, and looking seawards, saw them in their canoes. In her rage, she ran right out into the water, and hitting at the waves made them rise up and capsize the lot. Each separate piece of flesh then turned into a dugong, and the water round about was filled with them, also with the bodies of those who had waited so long for their feast. Some of the latter were drowned and some escaped, and so endeth the story of the bittern and his joke.
In some of these “fairy tales” mention is made of burial in the ground. Now, as I have before stated, the Turrbal tribe, when they did not eat their dead, always placed them up on trees. It was different, however, with the island tribes, who dug graves in the ground, most probably because the sandy soil was easily managed, whereas to the others it would mean a hard piece of work always. Graves were not made in the shape we make them, but always round. A body was not allowed to touch the sand, but first sheets of tea-tree bark were put in the hole, and the corpse, wrapped in more bark, placed on these. Then sticks were stuck in the earth round about the body, and these supported a sort of bark roof over it, on to which the sand was then shoved in. Some islanders had the idea that to mourn by the graveside of a relative cured their ills. Tales were, of course, repeated from one tribe to another.
A FAITHFUL BRIDE.
Three brothers once lived on Peel Island who all admired and wished to marry the same young girl-a daughter of a great chief. So they went in turn to her, taking an offering of food, to see if she would have them. But she evidently was saucy, and would have nothing to do with the first two who went, and the remaining brother was sick and thin, and anything but nice to look upon. When his turn came to go, his brothers kicked him and jeered at him, saying, “She won’t have you!” However, he went for healing to the graveside of their mother, who had lately died, and when he came away he was quite well and strong and nice-looking, and, presenting himself before the young girl, she married him. So that his brothers should not know this, he hid her under the water, and day by day took food to her there.
At last the brothers began to notice something, and they more than once suspected the truth-that he had married the young girl. So, by-and-bye, they offered to help him build a hut for her, and to this he agreed. When the hut was finished they used to coax their brother out with them day by day, and did all in their power to cause him to meet his death. Of course, they tried to hide this intention, but he saw through it all very well, and told his wife, saying that if a little bird came into her hut at any time, and dropped from its beak a drop of blood, she would know that he had been killed.
One day the three went fishing, and somehow the married man got his hands caught fast in a shell, and leaving him there alone to perish, the brothers went home, thinking, of course, that now one of them could marry the young girl. In the meantime, though, the little bird had gone to the hut, and so, knowing what had happened, the wife killed herself before anyone could turn up. Finding this state of affairs, the brothers went off to where they had left the poor unfortunate, thinking that if he were, still alive possibly the wife’s life might be restored. But he was gone had turned into a fish and drifted seawards.
And so the poor young wife’s married life ended thus early, and she turned into “winnam ” (breadfruit) flowers. And the husband did not remain a fish, but became a rainbow, and always after this, to the end of time, the pair of them were able to gaze one upon the other to their heart’s content, which must have been very satisfying.
THE DOG AND THE KANGAROO.
An old man who lived with his tribe on a little island possessed a dog which he was exceedingly fond of. One day this dog, wandering round, perceived a kangaroo over on another island, and swimming across began to chase it. Of course, the kangaroo made off, and the dog followed. Now, the old man missed his dog, and picking out his tracks, got into a canoe and crossed over after him. And this is what he saw :-His dog was chasing a kangaroo, and every now and then the animal would tire and lie down to rest, and the dog, being tired as well, also laid down, and the two would look at one another. The old man thought that in these intervals he could catch up to the pair, but whenever the kangaroo saw the man approach, he made off again, and the dog followed, in spite of many calls and entreaties from his master.
This sort of thing went on till many, many miles had been traversed, and the old man often stood stockstill and scratched his head, wondering what had come to his dog. He did not blame his favourite, however, but all the time heaped curses upon the kangaroo, saying it was certainly his fault. At length the kangaroo and dog both got into the water, one after the other, and started to swim to yet another island. Landing, they were both so exhausted that they died. The old man could not see this, however. When he saw them swimming he stood helplessly watching and crying, and at length turned back again, and seeking his canoe, went home to his island, wailing all the way, for had he not but one dog, and that one surely lost to him now?
Time passed, and one day some strange men from the distant island, visiting friends, told the old man that they had seen the dead bodies of the dog and the kangaroo.
THE CAUSE OF THE BAR IN SOUTH PASSAGE.
The following is not a “fairy tale,” for the aborigines really thought and declared it was true :- A young fellow from “Wiji-wiji-pi” (Swan Bay) was once travelling along the outside beach of Stradbroke Island when he came to a hut and a campfire. Now, he wanted a fire- stick, so took just one from the fire, and went on again. There happened to be an old woman in the hut who owned the fire, and she saw him do this, and was so angry that she followed in the blackfellow’s tracks, right along the beach, on and on till they came to Point Lookout, and then round to Amity. Here on the beach at Amity there were canoes, and the young fellow, seeing this, hastily launched one and got into it, and pulled across to Moreton Island. The old woman did likewise, and then on and on again they went, as formerly on the outside beach, till at last they came to Gunemba (Cape Moreton), where a large number of blacks were camped.
In from the beach kippas were going through with their ceremony, and the young fellow ran in amongst these, thinking to hide himself. But the old woman was too smart for that, and she followed and picked him out from amongst the lot, and, shoving him into a huge dilly, so carried him back again away round to the canoes. Laying him down on the beach, she went to launch a canoe, and while her back was turned the prisoner contrived to get loosened somewhat, and taking a couple of bone skewers (used for combing hair) from his back hair, he was ready with these to poke the woman’s eyes out as she stooped to lift him up again. After that, of course, she was helpless, and so the young fellow got free of the bag, and lifting and carrying his enemy, placed her in the launched canoe, and left her to drift away. She drifted out to the high bank in South Passage, and stuck there.
This old woman’s bones, washed by the water, gradually heaped up and up on the bank, and formed what we now know as the Bar there. Wonderful, no doubt, this may seem to us, but to the aborigines it was all quite true!
Sometimes short tales formed themes for the substance of a corrobboree, though these latter were generally founded on fact. As, for instance, the following:-
A young fellow went forth to fight with all his tribe, leaving his wife and child at home. Meeting the enemy, he got speared, and was killed, and his comrades buried him where he fell. On their return to camp the wife was told of what had happened, and putting her child on her back, she at once went to seek the grave. Finding it, she placed the child on the ground, and digging up the earth came to the body. Here she then lay, singing to herself in a lamenting fashion, while the child went in and out of the grave, up and down, playing all the time while the mother mourned.
In the corrobboree the wail this woman sang was repeated many times, and her action at the grave described.
A water-lizard or “magil” (moggill) was lying on a log in the water, and he was extremely comfortable, warming himself in the sun. A blackfellow came along and frightened the lizard, who slid off into the water, then as he swam away turned round and said, “You shouldn’t disturb me; I was comfortable in the sun.”
With regard to reptiles, animals, or birds, etc., the natives were wonderfully quick and accurate in noticing every little detail and peculiarity of habit, much more so than many white people. For instance, they could tell just how a “magil” would lie on a log in the water sunning himself, and they knew evidently that the warm sun was pleasant to him. They knew, also, just how he would slide off into the water when any disturbance came along. Exactly how a bird would sit watching for fish, almost the expression on its face as it pointed its beak (if it is allowable to speak of “facial expression” with regard to a bird), seemed to come to them instinctively. This gift of observing detail was natural to them, and they possessed it all unconsciously. It must have been very useful to them in those old days. White people with this same gift-people who see things with “seeing eyes “-love nature very, very much more than those who look and see nothing.
Of course, tales drawn from the imagination were recognised as such. No blackfellow really thought that animals went to a “bon-yi” feast, or that birds would go hunting kangaroos, as in the following:-
A magpie was once out after kangaroo, and, seeing some, he hunted them towards his son, the butcher-bird, calling out that they were coming. The butcher-bird, who was in readiness, called his sweet note in reply, and then he killed two and carried them home to his mother, camped on the edge of the scrub. This son then took to his wings, and went off hunting again, going far, far away from his parents, to whom he never came back.