The Black Man’s Deterioration
Worthy Characters
“Dalaipi “
Recommending North Pine as a Place to Settle
The Birth of “Murrumba”
A Portion of Whiteside Station
Mrs. Griffen
The First White Man’s Humpy at North Pine
Dalaipi’s Good Qualities
A Chat with Him
His Death
With Mr. Pettigrew in Early Maryboro’
A Very Old Land-mark at North Pine
Proof of the Durability of Bloodwood Timber The Word “Humpybong”
Most people speak and think of the aborigines as a lazy, dirty, useless, unreliable lot. But, as I have tried to show, it is unfair to pass judgment upon them because of what they appear to be now. They were not always so, and the white man is accountable for their deterioration. He taught them to drink and to smoke, and to feel that it was not worth calling up sufficient energy to make a canoe, a vessel for water, or even a hut to sleep in. As the natives got more and more into the ways of the white man, they would often lie huddled up in the rain, rather than trouble to make a hut to cover them. so they went down and down, travelling on the path which led to laziness, disease, and degradation. Poor souls! They did not teach their children to do as they had done, and the children never really knew what the old life had been. How different a native was in those old times! He was full of manly vigour and energy, his life was a joy to him, and the search for his food one long pastime. It is useless to think that we can ever blot out the injury we have done by mission schools and unnatural teaching.
To show that there were besides murderers really worthy characters among the aborigines, it may interest some readers to hear of” Dalaipi,” a fine old blackfellow my father knew. When the latter was a small boy he used to play with this man’s son-a little chap called “Dal-ngang “-and “Dal- aipi” himself was then nearly sixty years of age. Later, when Father had been married some months, and had decided, upon the advice of Mr. Tiffin, the Government Architect, to take up land for cattle, he sought out “Dalaipi,” and asked him if he knew of any country suitable for what he wanted. This old blackfellow was the head man of the North Pine tribe, and often came into Brisbane. He replied that there was plenty good” tar” (ground) at “Mandin” (fishing net) -the North Pine River railway bridge crossing. When Father agreed to go and look at it, “Dalaipi” was greatly pleased at the idea of him settling there, and said, “You take my son,” Dal-ngang,” with you, he will show you over my country, for he can ride, and any you pick on I will give you. I would go, but cannot ride would tumble off. When you make up your mind to settle, I will go with you, and protect you and your cattle, or any one belonging to you.”
So my father, a young man of about twenty-eight, journeyed forth with “Dal-ngang” to look at the place which was really to become his future home, though he did not know it. There he was to live for the rest of his lifetime, and form the now well-known homestead, “Murrumba.” This name, by the way, is the blackfellows’ word for “good.”
The two horsemen-the black man and the white-camped for the first night just where the latter’s milking-shed now stands, and Father was greatly taken with the country, which, in those days, looked so nice and green and open, and was covered with beautiful kangaroo grass, a couple of feet high. The young fellow thought to himself what a pity it was he could not take it up; he knew it to be a portion of the Whiteside run. “Dal-ngang” said to him, “You take this fellow ground, belong to my father?” and he was not at all reconciled to the fact when told that it already belonged to Mrs. Griffen (Captain Griffen’s widow).
After looking at North Pine, Father and “Dal-ngang went on to the mouth of the Pine River, and then round to Humpybong and Deception Bay. From there they went to Caboolture, and always as they travelled they examined the country for miles round about. At the end of four days they found themselves on the “Old Northern Road,” home- ward bound, my father with his mind made up to obtain a map of the country, so that he could see which portions were still open to choose from. However, arriving at the North Pine upper crossing (Sideling Creek), they met a bullock dray loaded with cedar, making down the river towards the salt water, whence the timber was to be rafted to Brisbane, and who should be riding alongside the team that his man was driving but John Griffen, with a horse pistol on either side of the pommel of the saddle, and a carbine hanging at his side. As soon as he saw Father he called to him, “Hullo, Petrie, where the devil are you going?” “I am looking for a nice piece of country on which to put some cattle. Can you put me on to anything?” “Yes, go down towards the mouth of the Pine.” “But that belongs to your mother.” “The old lady will be only too pleased to give it to you. We can’t keep a beast down there for the blacks, they run them into the swamps and spear them, then have great feasts. If any of us go down in that direction, we have always to be on our guard-that is the reason I am armed like this (touching his weapons). You never know when those black wretches may appear and tackle you. You had better go back to the station, Petrie, and see mother. I know you will get the land all right.”
My father, after some conversation, turned and went to Mrs. Griffen’s station, where the old lady met him heartily, and asked him in for the night. When he told her what he had come for, she said she would be only too pleased to let him have that portion of her run; it was of no use to them; it was unsafe for any one to go down there, and they could do nothing with the cattle on account of the blacks. “Yes, you can have it certainly, but,” she added, “would it be wise for a young man like you to settle in such a place would it be safe?” Fancy “Tom Petrie “being afraid of the natives!” Mrs. Griffen,” he answered, if you are willing that I should take over the land, I shall not be afraid to settle there, as I can speak to the blacks in their own tongue, and know their ways, and will be all right.” “Very well,” she said, “I will go to town with you to-morrow, and make arrangements that you get the land.”
So it came about that the lawyer transferred ten sections over to my father, and the latter had ten square miles in his name. His boundary was from Sideling Creek down the coast right round to Humpybong.
And now to return to “Dalaipi.” When everything had been finally settled, my father started from Brisbane in a boat to go to North Pine with rations, taking with him “Dalaipi,” “Dal-ngang,” and four other blacks. When they got to the mouth of Brisbane River, a fair wind was blowing towards St. Helena, and the natives suggested that the party should run across to the island and camp there for the night-they looked forward to a feast of dugong. To this my father agreed. At that time St. Helena was nearly all scrub, and some white men were living there who caught dugong and boiled them down for the oil for Dr. Hobbs. As luck had it, when the boat landed a large creature had just been caught, so the darkies had a great feast, and Father also enjoyed some of the meat. Next day, on their departure, the men of the island gave them a quantity of flesh, so the blacks were in great glee, as dugong was a favoured dish, and this meant a supply for several days. The wind, again favourable, took the party to the Pine, up which they travelled as far as Yebri Creek, and camped there.
Next day my father looked about for a suitable place in which to build a humpy, and picked upon almost the spot where his barn stands now near the N.C. Railway line. With the help of the blacks he cleared a couple of acres, and then teaching them to split slabs, and posts, and rails, he got a hut and stockyard built.
Whenever he had occasion after this to go for a few days to Brisbane, he found on his return that everything was all right, just as already related. The man who took charge of the humpy was “Dalaipi,” and the two young blacks mentioned, who watched the cattle, were lads of about seventeen, one being “Dal-ngang,” and the other, “Dippari,” a brother of “Dick Ben.” (“Dick Ben” was one of those concerned in the murder of Mr. Gregor and Mrs. Shannon).
These two young fellows were very useful; their master taught them to do all sorts of things about his place, and they were bright and quick at learning, and could do their work as well as any white man. Later on, when he had a house built to which his wife could come, these boys took turn about in travelling to Brisbane with a pack-horse every week, taking in little fresh things from the country to Mr. Petrie, senior, and returning with supplies for the station. And nothing ever went wrong.
“Dalaipi’ was,” my father says, ” a faithful and good old black to me. He was a great old fisherman, and used to keep us supplied with fish, crabs, and oysters, and in the season when turkey eggs were found in the scrub on the Pine brought these as an offering. He was the only blackfellow I knew who neither smoked nor drank.”
“Dalaipi” was not an extra tall blackfellow, but was good and very reverent looking, and carried himself with an air as though he were some one of importance, as, indeed he was, for his word was law among the tribe, and he was looked up to by every one. He and his son, “Dal-ngang,” were very gentle and courteous, and never seemed to join in with a rough joke. “Dalaipi’s” wife also was a tall splendid-looking woman, with the carriage of a queen. She it was who used to follow my mother on her walks abroad for fear harm should come to the white lady. When the latter had gone far enough, or with her child had approached some sacred burial place, the gin would quicken her pace and say, “Come back now, missus,” in a beseeching sort of voice, which my mother is afraid she did not always pay heed to.
My father has had many a yarn with poor old “Dalaipi” on the subject of the murders committed by the blacks, and this man told his white friend much the same as the murderers did themselves. “Before the whitefellow came,” “Dalaipi” said, “we wore no dress, but knew no shame, and were all free and happy; there was plenty to eat, and it was a pleasure to hunt for food. Then when the white man came among us, we were hunted from our ground, shot, poisoned, and had our daughters, sisters, and wives taken from us. Could you blame us if we killed the white man? If we had done likewise to them, would they not have murdered us ? “
“But,” my father said, “the blackfellows killed poor whites who never did them any harm.”
“That is nothing. If a man of one tribe killed someone of a second tribe, the first person in the former that the others came across was killed for revenge. That is our law. And, besides, look what a lot of blacks who did no harm were shot by the native police! And what a number were poisoned at Kilcoy! Another thing the white man did was to teach us to drink, smoke, swear, and steal.”
“They did not teach you to steal.”
“Yes, they did. They stole our ground where we used to get food, and when we got hungry and took a bit of flour or killed a bullock to eat, they shot us or poisoned us. All they give us now for our land is a blanket once a year.”
But, Dalaipi,’ did not the white men settle the mission- aries at Nundah to make you better, and teach you not to kill, steal, or tell lies? Did they not show you how to work for them, and so earn a living?”
“Yes, the missionaries were settled at Nundah, and what did we learn from them? The young blacks got to know too much of the whites’ ways and habits-too much of what was right and wrong. Before any white people came here, we never stole anything from one another, but divided everything we had, and were always happy.”
“But what about when you beat the poor gins and often killed them for a mere trifle ? And sometimes you sneak upon an unsuspecting blackfellow in another tribe, and kill him.”
“It is our law that a gin should be killed when she steps over anything belonging to us or for other things. And if a man dies, or gets killed by fighting with one of his own tribe, we don’t blame the man who seemed to kill him, but find out the real murderer by chopping the dead man’s bones together, which always crack at the right name. You have seen that done many a time, and you know.” “Yes, that’s all right, Dalaipi.'”
“The missionary and white fellow tell us that if a black- fellow kill a white man they catch him and kill him by putting a rope round his neck; and if a white man kill another white fellow, they do just the same. That is your law. Well, the blackfellow is different. We do not blame the man we see killing the other, but go by the cracking of the dead man’s bones. And when we get a chance we do not put a rope round the murderer’s neck, but kill him with a waddy, a spear, or a tomahawk. That is the difference, and we do not see any harm in killing that way. It was our law before the white fellow came among us to teach us all sorts of things. Why did not the white man stop in his own country, and not come here to hunt us about like a lot of kangaroo ? If they had kept to their own land, we would not have killed them.”
“No, that is true, ‘Dalaipi’; but you see the white man likes to go and find new country, and bring bullocks and horses, and grow potatoes and corn; then you get plenty to eat.” “No fear, they won’t give us anything; they are too greedy. They put corn and potatoes in our ground that they took from us at Eagle Farm a long time ago, to tempt us when we were hungry. There were several shot there stealing corn. You mind’ Dalantchin,’ who was lame in one leg ? Well, he was shot in the hip with a ball while taking corn; that was what made him lame.”
“Well, you know that was not right. He was stealing it.”
“I don’t see that. The white fellow stole the ground, and I don’t see any harm in taking a few cobs of corn or a dilly- full of potatoes when one is hungry. We should not be shot like birds for it.”
“Dalaipi,’ you see it one way, and the whites another, that’s certain.”
“You say the white fellow don’t tell lies. I know plenty who did. They would get the blacks to bring them fish, young parrots, and all sorts of things; then, in place of giving them what was promised, they took the things, and, with ‘Be off, you black devil!’ gave them a hit on the side of the head. What do you call that but stealing? That is the way a good many whites were killed. Let us see a white man to-day and speak to him, and then even though we do not see him again for a long, long time, we know him, and remember what he did.”
“Now, ‘Dalaipi,’ I see I cannot make you see the right from the wrong. Tell me how it is you never drink grog nor smoke?”
“When the blackfellow took to drinking rum-that you call it they would go mad, and beat one another with waddies, and cut themselves with knives; sometimes they would kill their friends in a quarrel.
I knew if I took it I would go mad, too, so I would never touch it. They used to try me to take it, but I never would. I tried the tobacco, but it made me very sick, and I never would try it again.”
‘Dalaipi,’ how is it that the blacks never tried to kill me ? “
“Because your mother and all your people were kind to us, and would always give us something to eat, and you were a small little boy growing up with the black boys, who used to go about your father’s house. In those early days we were not allowed to go near the croppies’ (the native name for prisoners), but could always see you. You learned our tongue, our ways and secrets, and you never broke our laws nor ill-treated us, but were always kind. We would do anything for you, and looked on you as one of ourselves. If all the whites were like you there would not have been so many killed.”
In spite of conversations like this “Dalaipi” was not a man of many words. He would never speak much unless questioned. His English was broken, of course. He and his never became aggressive, nor troublesome in the way of asking for tobacco, etc., as some did.
As I have said, “Dalaipi ” was the head man of the North Pine tribe, which numbered about two hundred, and he was supposed to own the kippa ring there. He was looked on as the great rain-maker for his part of the country. At one time it was rather dry, and the waterholes were getting low, so my father said to him, “You make the rain come and fill the holes again, ‘Dalaipi.'” He answered,” Byamby me makeim come.” About two days after this it got very cloudy, and “Dalaipi” turned up and said, “Me go now and makeim rain come up.” So taking his tomahawk with him, he went down to the river just above where the ballast pit is now, where there was a point of rock and a deep hole. Here the end of the rainbow with its spirit ‘taggan” was supposed to go down into the water. “Dalaipi” jumped in with his tomahawk, and went under, coming up again with a small cut on his head, which was bleeding. On his way back to the house his master met him, and asked how he had come by the cut. “Oh, I been feeling about for ‘taggan,’ and hit my head longa ‘mudlo’ (stone).”
That day a shower fell, which soon cleared off, however, so my father asked, “How is it you didn’t make more rain, Dalaipi’? that not enough.” The old fellow replied, “Oh, I only cuttem taggan’ half through; byamby me go down and make plenty more come.” So after this his master did not tease him again.
At that time during summer thousands of flying foxes camped in the scrub on the Pine, and the blacks used to catch great numbers, almost living entirely on them now and then. Always in winter they disappeared, so one day my father asked “Dalaipi” where the foxes went in winter. “They go down,” he said, “under the water, in that hole where the taggan’ stops, where me makeim rain. They stop there till the hot weather comes back, then they come up again and go longa kabban’ (scrub).” He firmly believed this, and so did all the others.
Poor old “Dalaipi” wished once to go for a change to “Tugulawa” (Bulimba) to be with some of his friends for a week or so. He came to his master and said, “You let me go, me not be long away; I been telling the other blackfellows to mind you till I come back.” But the poor old man never came back, he took a cold and died there. When the news reached the Pine of his death, there was great lamenting, and cutting of heads. He was well known all over the country. When my father went, as a boy, to the “bon-yi” feast (on the Blackall) with the blacks, he was introduced as belonging to “Dalaipi’s” tribe. On another occasion he went with Mr. Pettigrew to Mary- borough, to look round the country and notice the timber. (Mr. Pettigrew wished to start a sawmill, and he knew if my father accompanied him he would be saved trouble with the blacks.) Two young blacks they took with them, “Dal-ngang and “Kerwalli” (meaning “spilt “); the latter was afterwards known as old King Sandy, and he died at Wynnum in 1900.
In those days Maryborough consisted of only a few houses. Mr. Pettigrew and his companion walking along a road there, came in sight of two gins coming towards them, and my father remarked, “When they get within speaking distance I will have a bit of fun.” So he called to them, ” Yin, wanna yan man?” (Where are you going?). They jumped at this in great excitement, saying one to the other that here was a white man who could speak their tongue, so Father had a yarn with them. That night he, with Mr. Pettigrew, slept on board the steamer, and next morning the wharf was black with natives come to see the white man who could talk to them. Again he was introduced as belonging to “Dalaipi’s ” tribe, by the two blacks accompanying them, and ” Dal-ngang” being “Dalaipi’s” son was also made much of. The whole crowd volunteered to go with the white men and show them timber, but only one man and his wife were taken.
The party went up the Susan River, and to Fraser Island, and Tin Can Bay, and they saw plenty of timber. Mr. Pettigrew afterwards started a sawmill at Maryborough.
My father says he was never afraid that the blacks would do him harm, but, in those early days, felt he would far sooner trust them than most of the whites. “Duramboi,” the man who lived so long with the blacks, said, when he heard my father was going out to settle in the bush, ” You are a foolish young man to go; as soon as you get some rations out the blacks will kill you for them. I know their ways, as I ought- having lived with them so long.” “Oh well,” was the answer, “if that happens, I won’t be the first white man they’ve killed.” Small comfort, one would think. He adds now, though, “In place of killing me they were very kind, and I am alive yet.”
In the year 1824, before Brisbane town had been founded, and in the days when Humpybong was Queensland’s penal settlement, a party of men journeyed up the then unnamed and obscure North Pine River, and entering Yebri Creek (below the homestead, “Murrumba “), landed, and proceeded to make a camp. Having come from the only part of Queensland inhabited by white men-the penal settlement at Humpybong-they were, most probably, soldiers in charge of a gang of prisoners, and were evidently in search of timber.
On the south side of Yebri Creek, near a portion of it my father has since had spanned by a bridge, and in what is now known as his “Lower Paddock”-which latter is bounded on one side by the North Coast Railway line-lay at that time a limb blown from a bloodwood tree. This limb must have been dead and dry, and so have lain on the ground some time, for the prisoners started to cut it up for firewood, some with a crosscut saw, and one with an axe. Hardly had they begun operations, however, when natives who had noticed their approach, and who probably looked upon everything in the vicinity as their especial property, stole upon the intruders, and succeeded in making off with an axe. Instead of waiting to reason out the case, the white men fired upon the blacks, shooting one unfortunate dead; then made off to the boat, and started down the creek on their return to Humpybong.
“Whoso sheddeth man’s blood, by man shall his blood be shed.” The natives, determining upon revenge, watched their opportunity, and, subsequently, killed two of the prisoners at Humpybong.
Almost forty-five years ago, when my father first settled at North Pine, it was the honest old “Dalaipi” who showed his young master this fallen limb with its markings (a chip taken out by an axe, also a cut from a saw some two inches deep), and he it was also who related the story of its strong link with the past. Ten years ago, my father showed the limb to Mr. William Pettigrew, whose name is well known in Brisbane, and whose knowledge of timber makes interesting some remarks he writes in a late communication re that bloodwood limb.
The marks of the axe and the crosscut saw were quite distinct when Mr. Pettigrew saw the limb and heard the story, and he now sends along a copy of some notes jotted down at the time :-
“29th December, 1893.-T. Petrie has a fence up thirty years. Posts of this (bloodwood) sound. Another fence up twenty-five years, sound. Rails, iron bark, replaced twice. Had been eaten by white ants.
“A branch of a tree lying at Petrie’s was cut into in 1824 or ’25 by a party in a boat, when a black stole an axe, and was shot dead; whites cleared out.”
Mr. Pettigrew adds that he saw the tree (standing) from which the branch had fallen, and he further remarks that the limb was evidently lying on the ground at the time the scars were made. “That limb,” he says, ” had lain on the ground for sixty-eight years (in 1893). What would be the age of the tree at 1824 or ’25, when the limb was blown off? People in West Australia have been boasting of some of their durable timbers, but I think the bloodwood will beat any they have got.”
At the present time (October, 1904), this interesting blood- wood limb is still in existence, and its wood is perfectly sound. Some few years ago, however, bush fires charred and dis- figured the surface of it, and there are now no distinguishing marks, save its unaltered position, it being too heavy to move. The parent tree also lies prone near by, having been burnt down, probably at the time the limb was disfigured. The tree, when the branch was blown from it, must have been a good size judging from the limb, which is no baby one. And, as I have said, the branch, when the prisoners started to cut into it, was then dead wood, so who knows what length of time prior to 1824 it lay on the ground?
The fences Mr. Pettigrew mentions are yet in existence, the posts still being sound. Some few of the latter have recently been taken up, and are as solid as the day they were put in, nearly forty-five years ago.
The Brisbane blacks called the bloodwood tree, or Eucalyptus corymbosa, “buna.” And the tree mentioned grew on clay subsoil-my father has a dam not far from where it stood.
In concluding this subject, I may say that the word ” Yebri” was the natives’ name for a portion of the creek under dis- cussion, and meant “put, or lay it down.” My father gave this name to the authorities, and it has been generally accepted. With regard to the word “Humpybong,” we are told that that was the name given to the deserted place at Redcliffe by the blacks. They called it “Umpi Bong,” meaning ‘dead houses.” Now “bong” was their word for dead, but “ngudur” (after tea tree bark) stood generally for a but or house on the coast, hence, I am led to believe, as humpy is of Australian origin, that it is one of those words coined by the Australian white man and adopted by the blacks.