Prince Alfred’s Visit to Brisbane in 1868
A Novel Welcome to the Duke
A Black Regiment
The Man in Plain Clothes
The Darkies’ Fun and Enjoyment
Roads Tom Petrie has Marked
First Picnic Party to Humpybong
Chimney round which a Premier Played
Value of Tom Petrie’s “Marked Tree Lines”
First Reserve for Aborigines in Queensland (Bribie Island)
The Interest It Caused
Father McNab
Keen Sense of Humour
Abraham’s Death at Bribie
Piper, the Murderer
Death by Poison
Nowadays it is a common enough sight to see natives marshalled together and taking part in pa procession, but when the late Duke of Edinburgh (then Prince Alfred) came to visit Bris- bane in 1868 such a thing had never been seen before in Queensland. Father, who had then been living at North Pine for some nine years, went in to Brisbane to see the Duke’s arrival, and Mr. Tiffin, the Government Architect, coming to him the evening before the great event, asked if he could manage somehow to gather a number of blacks together as a sort of novel welcome to the Duke. It wanted then but an hour to sundown, so there was not much time; but, as luck would have it, a native passed on his way to camp soon afterwards, and my father speaking to him, asked if he would tell the rest of the blacks to come in early and bring their spears, waddies, shields, boomerangs, etc., also some “kutchi” and white clay, with which to decorate themselves.
In the morning the natives turned up about sixty of them and it was a piece of work to get them all painted and fixed up to represent the different tribes. When that was done, “I told them,” says Father, “what to do and how to march and follow me, and I had just got them ready when the procession came in sight near the Post Office, coming along Queen Street. So I hurried the darkies off in a trot to meet it. I had already told off one blackfellow to go to the arch near the Post Office, telling him that a man there would show him how to get up, and which way to stand and hold his boomerang, and I impressed upon him that he must stand steady and make no movement until the whole procession had passed through under the arch.
“As I hurried my regiment along through the crowd, in order to reach the landing place near the Gardens in time, the ladies cried out about their dresses, saying they would be spoilt and dirtied with the paint of the darkies; but my followers took no notice of this, rushing on excitedly after me. We arrived just in time to allow me to place them properly. Two I put on the arch erected there one on each side each with a boomerang in his hand, held as though ready to throw; and the others I placed on either side of the landing-stage. They looked very well, with their weapons and shields poised warlike fashion, and some had parrot’s feathers up and down in strips on their bodies, and others had swansdown; some were painted, one exact half white, and the other black; others the same but red and white; some were all black with white spots, and others had white stripes, etc. As the Duke stepped ashore I saw him look first to one side at the blacks, and then to the other, as he walked through them, then up at the archway, and he was gone. The darkies asked which was the Duke, and when I told them the man in plain clothes they were surprised, and said he was the same as another white man. They thought the one with the cocked hat and the bright things on his shoulders and glittering buttons was the Duke.
“After this I pushed my men through the crowd, and, getting to the front, marched them alongside the first division. As we went along I got them to give a regular war whoop every now and then, and it was amusing to see how the people on the sideways and the balconies gave a jump every time at the sound. Then I got them to sing their war song. As we passed under the arch in Queen Street, the darkie there stood still as a statue. He told me afterwards that he was afraid to look down on the crowd lest he should tumble amongst them.
When we arrived at the entrance gate to Government House, I stationed my regiment thirty on each side, standing at ease. The Dukes’s carriage and the rest passed through, and when all was over and the vehicles and societies had turned back to parade down the streets again, I kept my lot behind, then marched down George and Queen Streets, the blacks giving their war cry and song as they went. The people were pleased at this, and those on the balconies kept throwing down oranges and biscuits, which the darkies caught in great glee.
“For their part in the proceedings that day the blacks were each given half-a-crown, and then they had to end up with three cheers for the Queen. They enjoyed it all so much that they said to me in their own tongue that they would like to march every day, and wanted to knew if they’d come again to-morrow. I said no, that was all I wanted with them just then, so off they went merrily to spend their half-crowns, not waiting even to wash off their paint. An every-day march would have been all very well for them, but poor me- I got nothing for my trouble.”
My father deserves some recognition for all he has done for his country gratuitously. For instance, he has opened up lots of roads. The present one from Brisbane to Humpy- bong was marked by him right from Bald Hills to the sea. When he came first to North Pine there were no roads, of course, but just a timber track from Bald Hills to Brisbane. For his own convenience, he therefore marked a road from the Pine to reach this, which is the present one in use to Bald Hills. At one time he had two or three tracks cut through the scrub at South Pine.
Before his arrival anyone travelling from the direction of “Murrumba” had to go up to Sideling Creek to get on to the Old Northern Road to Brisbane. Then the first picnic party who ever went to Humpybong-Sir James Garrick and some other gentlemen-came to him and got him to pilot them through the bush to the coast. Later on he marked a tree line when the father of the late Hon. T. J. Byrnes inquired about land for cattle. Father took him down to the Lagoons on the way to Humpybong, and there the Irishman afterwards took up country and settled. He also took him to Humpybong, and showed him the old brick kiln made in the time of the convicts’ settlement there. The bricks were good, and Patrick Byrnes made use of some of them for his chimney-a chimney round which afterwards the future Premier played. Still later again my father marked the present road to Humpybong, when it was made shorter by the bridge across Hayes’s Inlet.
In those days a company started growing cotton at Caboolture. They came to Father and asked if he could find them a shorter way to their plantation than the track which went away round by Sideling Creek. So he marked the present road to Morayfield. Then from there he marked the road for Captain Whish to his property. Also he showed Captain Townsend the land that gentleman took up on the Caboolture, and marked his road, which is the present Caboolture road crossing the bridge.
The road to Narangba was marked by him, also the one from South Pine to Cash’s Crossing, and from the lagoons on the old Northern Road to Terror’s Creek on the Upper Pine. The latter has since been altered.
When Davis (or “Duramboi”) was asked to mark a road to Gympie, he sought my father’s assistance for the first part of the way, saying he would know where he was all right when he got to the Glass House Mountains, as he had been there before when living with the blacks. So Father took him to the other side of Caboolture and put him and party on his (“Tom” Petrie’s) marked tree line to Petrie’s Creek, on the Maroochy River. Then when the line to Gympie was marked, he went with Cobb and Co. to help them pick out stopping places for the changing of horses. The road was just frightful at that time; we in these days could not recognize it for the same.
When quite a youngster, my father marked a road for the squatters from Cleveland Point to the Eight Mile Plains, so that they could bring their wool down to the store at Cleveland.
Also when a boy he piloted the first picnic party through the bush to where Sandgate is now, though he did not mark the road to that place.
Surveyors have often come for a talk with my father, and they always used his marked lines. When the present railway line to Gympie was being surveyed, he went with the surveyors to show them the different ways to Caboolture. And he accompanied his friend, Mr. George Phillips, C.E., to Gympie, traversing the different trial lines. Also he showed the surveyors the proposed line to Humpybong.
In 1877, during the Douglas Ministry, the first reserve for aborigines was formed. Deciding that there should be such a reserve, the late Hon. J. Douglas and several Ministers of the Crown journeyed by steamer to Bribie Island, in order to pick a suitable spot there. They were accompanied by my father, who, because of his intimate knowledge of the blacks, was asked by the Government to supervise the workings of the reserve, and encourage the natives to settle there. Arriving in Bribie Passage, anchor was dropped opposite the White Patch, and the whole party went ashore, including several blackfellows who had been brought down in the steamer. These and others who were on the island were got together, and the Premier spoke and explained what the Government meant to do for them, saying that my father would overlook everything. The latter gentleman interpreted what the Premier said, and the darkies were very pleased at the idea, the cheering party when they were leaving, and waving to the steamer till it was out of sight.
The blacks on this reserve were supplied, under my father’s management, with a boat, a fishing net, harpoons for dugong, and other necessaries, and they had to work in exchange for their rations, catching fish and curing them, and making dugong, shark, and stingaree oils. These and sometimes a turtle, were all sold in Brisbane in exchange for the rations, which afterwards were doled out to the blacks by an old man, who, with his wife, was engaged to live on the island. Father went about once a month to see that all was well. When he first mustered the blacks there were about fifty, some of these being very old women.
In winter time the blacks caught great hauls of sea mullet, and at other times there were other fish, etc., and everything went well, and the settlement bid fair to became self-supporting, when in 1879 the Palmer Government did away with the whole thing. My father asked what was to become of the old men and women? “Oh, let them go and work like anyone else,” was the reply. “What is to happen to the boat and fishing net?” “Oh, let them have those.” So the news had to be told to the blacks, who were all very miserable about it, and the old gins cried and asked how they were going to get anything to eat. Their friend told them to cheer up, that he was sure the others would not see them want. “No, but they will take us back to Brisbane, and when there they will get drunk, and beat us. We would like to stay here, where we are happy-there is no drinking of grog here, nor fighting.” “I cannot help it,” Father had to tell them; “I have got orders from the Government to break up the settlement, and so it has to be.”
Several gentlemen in Brisbane at that time, among them a Church of England Bishop, were very much interested in favour of this settlement for blacks, and they were much against the ending of the concern. However, it had to be. It was a pity, as it was quite true what the gins had said, and many deaths occurred in drunken fights. Numbers of those blacks might have been alive to-day. My father asked the Government, during the life of the settlement, for authority to keep blacks from the city, where they could get drink, but this was not granted. His powers for good were limited, as he had no fixed salary, and no free passes. Some of the Brisbane tribe would not go to the island, as they could get drink in Brisbane, making the excuse that they would not be happy away from their native part.
During the time of this settlement a Scotch priest named Father McNab came to North Pine to my father, and stayed a few days, getting information about the blacks’ ways and language, saying he wished to go to Bribie Island, and see what he could do in the way of teaching religion there. So during my father’s presence at the island he arrived one day with a man, and they pitched their tent near by the blacks’ camp. Next morning, gathering the natives together, he talked to them, and showed them pictures, explaining what they meant. The listeners appeared attentive at first, but it soon became apparent that the work was useless. One morning (the priest told my father afterwards), while he was holding prayers, a black named “Prince Willie” came to join in with his pipe in his mouth. The priest remonstrated, telling Willie it was wicked to smoke at prayers. “Father McNab,” said the man, “I smoke when I like.” And so things went on for a good while, till the priest, finding he could do no good, gave up the attempt altogether.
In the meantime, though, during one of his visits to the island, while the priest was absent in Brisbane, my father came upon “Prince Willie” with all the blacks and gins gathered round him, acting Father NcNab’s part. There he was with an old book, from which he pretended to read, jabbering away like a parrot, and he had water at his side in which he dipped his hand, and then sprinkled the blacks he was about to name. He made these latter cross themselves, and then others he married with a ring. The white man had to laugh till his sides were sore at the way the absurd fellow went on, although he felt he should not, and there were the rest of the blacks simply rolling on the ground with laughter. A native’s sense of humour is very keen. “I tried to be serious,” Father says, ” and told them that it was very wrong of them to mock a minister, as his wish was to make them better; but one might just as well have tried to make a stone speak as try to convert those blacks.”
During the years of my father’s management at Bribie Island, there were only two or three deaths there. One, he remembers, was that of a very old gin, and another that of Abraham, the coxswain of the fishing boat. The latter took dropsy, and his legs swelled to a great size. The poor fellow, when Father was leaving the island one day, asked him to bring back a watermelon the next time; he fancied it would make him better. But when the next time came he was dead. His people skinned him, but said they did not eat him. Their friend had his doubts about the latter fact. They skinned him because he was the son of one of the great men of the island, and they wished to give his relatives the skin. They came and said they wanted to go over to the north point of Humpybong, because some Durundur blacks were camped there, and the friends of the dead one were among them. So my father took them over, and went to the camp with them.
On the way three of the Durundur blacks and some gins came to meet the old woman who carried the skin, and when she showed the dilly they all commenced to wail and cry and cut their heads, the men with tomahawks and the women with their yamsticks. Blood flowed freely; the sight was a terrible one, and the sound of the crying was awful. The other blacks then rushed and took the weapons from these mourners, who gradually became quiet enough to talk over the death, and the supposed cause of it. They blamed a blackfellow called Piper by the whites, and they swore they would kill this man at the first opportunity. Then the dilly was opened, and a small one inside containing four pieces of skin was given to an old woman of the Durundur tribe, a relative of the deceased. Gathering up their belongings, then, they all went on to camp, crying again as they went.
After this my father left these blacks, who, however, stayed on where they were awhile, and about a week later Piper himself happened to turn up. He came with a few Maroochy blacks, and camped alongside the Bribie lot. So it was arranged that one night a man of Bribie called “Dangalin” (or Pilot by the whites) should sneak up in the darkness to Piper and kill him This was tried, but as it turned out Piper was not asleep, and the blow missed its aim, and therefore as Pilot retreated he in his turn was struck at, and received an awful tomahawk cut at the back of the knee. Father saw this cut two days afterwards, and it seemed to him that the leg was almost severed the man could not move then. However, he recovered in the end, though he was always lame. At the time Father said to him, “How is it you made such a mess of things?” The reply was that the man was too quick, and the moment he struck he ran away, and was not captured, though some chased. However, they would have him yet.
Piper got back to Maroochy among his friends, and stayed there a long time, until he thought the feeling against him had been forgotten. He was the blackfellow who had mur- dered a botanist at Mooloolah. On this account he had been an outlaw (“tallabilla” the natives called it) for a good many years, then he was captured, and tried and acquitted; because of the long interval between the trial and murder the latter could not be brought home to him properly. Some time after the Bribie affair he came into Brisbane with a number of others to attend a corrobboree, and camped at Kedron Brook with some Durundur blacks, thinking he would be safest with them. But one of these blacks, called Sambo, a friend of the dead Abraham, had been on the watch, and actually had been carrying about poison for Piper, thinking he was too smart for another death. This poison was what the white men used for native dogs, and doubtless had been got at some station. So Sambo obtained a little rum, and mixing in the poison, offered Piper a drink. The unsuspecting blackfellow had a good drink, then handed the bottle to another man, with the result that they both died. Sambo did not intend the second death, of course. An inquiry was held in Brisbane on this poisoning affair, and my father interpreted for the blacks. However, Sambo could be found nowhere, and the matter had to drop. Such was the end of Piper, the murderer, and such was often the way in which a blackfellow would be hunted to his death by his fellow blacks for a deed of which he was perfectly innocent, though he may have been guilty enough in other ways.