Читать книгу Butterflies and Demons - Eva Chapman - Страница 12

CHAPTER 2

White Sharks

Midlato looked out over the plain and the sea beyond as she wove string from roots she had gathered. She was perched at the front of her winter wardli, which nestled cosily among the gums high up in the gully.

‘Bucha! Bucha!’ The childish squeals caused a slight stirring among the shaggy koalas slumbering in their eucalypt nooks. Midlato and the children were engaged in their favourite pastime, watching out for ghost-skin boats in the gulf, and shouting, ‘Bucha!’ to each other. A dreaming story told by the Narungga who lived across the water, predicted the arrival of white man and his danger. It described how harmless brown fish had turned into white sharks with razor teeth roaring ‘Bucha’, the Narungga word for death. The first time Midlato heard the story around a campfire on the banks of the Karrawirraparri, she was petrified. The narrator had roared out a terrifying prophecy of doom through an imaginary shark’s mouth, ‘Bucha! Bucha!’ It was the same night that there had been a shower of shooting stars, which augured bad tidings. A short time later her mother succumbed to an illness of suppurating sores and died in agony.

It was nearing the end of the cold season and Midlato was looking forward to wiltutti, the time to dismantle her cosy wardli and descend to the plain. The signs were promising; the sun appeared earlier over the hulking shape of the sleeping giant Ngano behind her, and the air was warmer each morning. The Wardliparri, or Milky Way, gradually pointed to Ngarrindjeri country in the south, not towards the Wongayerlo as it did in cold season. She would soon throw off her possum pelt and run through the plain where blue and pink blossoms vied with fragrant wattle to scent the air. Midlato, like her totem creature the emu, hated being confined and yearned to roam free. She loved wandering through the yarta criss-crossed with the tracks of ancestral spirits; every hill, every creek, every group of trees associated with a Kaurna tradition and a totemic ancestor. She couldn’t wait to get down to the Karrawirraparri to catch kungurla, and run through the red gums and silvery sheoaks that graced its banks. This river was a reflection of the Wardliparri above, whose stars mirrored the campfires that blazed at the large inter-tribal gatherings around Tandanya Rock, where her people would dance ecstatically and sing. The northern clans camped to the north of the rock, the southern clans to the south, and so on. The children ran and played in between, and shared discoveries. Midlato particularly liked inventing three-way string games with her best friends, Kartanya from Ngaltingga in the south and Kudnartu from the Nantuwarra, the northernmost Tandanya clan.

But a shadow had passed over the peoples of this land. There was considerable unease about the strange, pale people who had made various appearances, and more were expected, hence the children’s vigils in looking out to sea. Around the fires after a meal of game, roots and fruits, animated discussions prevailed, often all night. Stories of the last thousand generations were resurrected and mulled over. Friendly neighbouring tribes, like the Narungga from over the Wongayerlo, shared their stories and prophecies. And sure enough the white peril had come. Kartanya’s kammammi, Kirrila of Ngaltingga, was stolen, as were many other women. Magic sticks were pointed at the men who tried to defend their women, killing many. Some white-skins had even walked through the gully Midlato was sitting in. She shuddered at the thought.

There were endless discussions around the campfires about what to do.

‘Spear the lot’ growled Ityamai-itpina, Midlato’s uncle.

‘Set Karndo on to them,’ muttered the Wirra, or Forest men, a northern Kaurna group who were renowned for sorcery. Kadlitpina, a respected Wirra warrior, tried to dissuade them. Kua Murlawirra from Ngaltingga, in the south, regarded by the elders as the most promising young male of the Tandanya plain, advocated caution. Midlato’s kammammi, a female elder, a ngangkiburka, knew of the burden he carried, but also knew he was the best man for the job; strong, kind, and wise beyond his years; a capable elder or burka. She and the elders were already honouring him with the title, Murlawirrapurka.

The British were wary of the French and desperately wanted to stake their claim in the south of New Holland. They listened with interest to Edward Wakefield’s colonisation theories, which were promoted vigorously by his secretary Robert Gouger. Gouger worked hard to bring Wakefield’s ideas for an experimental colony to fruition. He managed to engineer the passing of the British Colonies Act in 1834 by courting the influential Duke of Wellington, promising him the new city would be named after him. But the Napoleonic hero was ‘shabbily disappointed’ when King William IV announced the honour would go to his Queen. Formerly Adelheid of Saxony, William had married her to strengthen his alliance with the Hapsburgs and produce a legitimate heir. However, this was not to be, as two infants died. The third infant, the new settlement of Adelaide, did survive, but only just and at great cost. The glaring problem in this proposed utopia was the gigantic imperialist blindspot that the land being dispensed with so freely was home to another people. For tens of thousands of years, the Kaurna had led a nomadic existence on their beloved yarta. The area where the city of Adelaide would eventually stand was, to them, Tandanya – the place of the Red Kangaroo.

However, there were a few enlightened imperialists, who, flushed with the victory of the recent abolition of slavery, raised the problem of the ‘natives’. Lord Glenelg, secretary of State of the Colonies, insisted that a percentage of the land be put aside for their benefit and that they be appointed a protector. South Australia, as well as being convict free, would not be tarnished with the excesses suffered by the Aborigines in Sydney, Port Phillip Bay, and Van Diemen’s Land, but stand as an example of enlightened colonialism. His was a noble vision.

In 1836 several ships set sail. Colonel Light, the Surveyor General, captained the Rapid. The colonial secretary, Robert Gouger, set sail in the Africaine, accompanied by his wife Harriet, emigration agent John Brown, and his servant James Cronk. Cronk, from Tottenham, was an enterprising young man who was taking advantage of free passage for labourers and the promise of wages. Gouger, himself a non-conformist, encouraged many other Dissenters to come to enjoy the religious freedom promised in South Australia: this included Samuel Stephens, from a famous Methodist family, who was the South Australian Company’s colonial manager; the non-conformist Bradshaw family; and a young Quaker, Albert Taplow, who all sailed on the Duke of York. Dr Edward Wright, disgraced of Bedlam, wangled a passage on the survey ship Cygnet, and proceeded to cause mayhem by quaffing endless tankards of rum and attacking people, including the captain. On the Tam O’Shanter sailed Captain Walter Bromley, who had been interviewed in London for the job of Protector of Aborigines by the future governor, Captain John Hindmarsh. Hindmarsh settled himself, his large family, his private secretary George Stevenson, the Resident Commissioner James Hurtle Fisher, and a huge array of livestock on the HMS Buffalo. Sir John Jeffcott, who had – amid controversy – been appointed Chief Judge of South Australia, was supposed to accompany the Governor. A long line of his creditors who waited on the Plymouth quay were irate when he failed to turn up. John Barton Hack, a wealthy Quaker, boarded the Isabella a few weeks later with his large family. He was surprised by the late and somewhat stealthy arrival of a Knight of the British Empire, none other than Sir John Jeffcott. Hack wondered what dark secrets this man was escaping.

‘Yoko! Yoko!’ Midlato was whipped out of her musings. The children were jumping up and down in a frenzy. ‘Yoko! Yoko!’ Shaggy koalas startled from their slumber, joined in the squealing.

Sure enough, there it was; a ship! Although fearful, Midlato marvelled at the yoko’s great white pelts billowing out from three enormous sticks, which propelled it like a giant bleached swan up the gulf. Over the next few days the children reported the ship’s whereabouts. It sailed around Mudlunnga, a nose shaped protuberance where Kaurna hunters trapped emus, and entered an inlet towards Yartabulti ‘the marshy place where birds went to sleep’. This mangrove-lined swamp was where other bleached swans had also stopped. Why were they so interested in this place? It was so dank and full of dark spirits. The yoko then sailed out into the gulf again and went southwards. It stopped at Patawalonga Creek, or rather, it tried to stop. There had been a terrible storm that night. Perhaps the ancestors were angry that these ghost-skins were coming. Or were the Wirra sorcerers up to their magic? Kudnartu told Midlato that the people were calling on Karndo, a birdlike creature, to bring on the worta bokarra, the tempestuous north westerly winds, to stop white-skins from landing.

For the first time ever, Midlato was apprehensive of moving to the plains. She was glad of the stormy winds that delayed their descent. She blocked up the front of her wardli to keep out the worta bokarra, and peeked out the back. From here, she could just see the jultiwirra, the stringy bark trees at the top of the gully which marked Permangk territory. Her teeth chattered, the old enemy in front, and a new, sinister enemy behind.

The winds eventually calmed down. The yoko had billowed away for the time being, but all knew in their bones it would be back. They heard an intriguing story. The white captain of the ship had a Kaurna woman from Karta on board. Who could she be? Midlato fervently hoped it would be her friend Kartanya’s grandmother. Ever since she had heard the story of her captured kammammi from her mother, who had so narrowly escaped, Kartanya would often sit at Ngaltingga and gaze wistfully out to sea.

Colonel Light was in a flat spin. He felt weighed down by his onerous task – to found the city Adelaide – the new Athens of the south, where the most enlightened ideals of the British Empire would flourish. After a delayed start, the Rapid arrived late. The South Australian Colonial Society from its Adelphi headquarters in London issued precise guidelines. The new city must sit on fertile land, have access to fresh water, and be near a good harbour. Light felt unwell, his phlegm spotted with blood. There was no sign of the Cygnet, which carried all his surveying equipment.

With the help of a Kaurna woman who lived on Kangaroo Island, Light explored the coast. She had lived with a sealer for several years who named her Sally, so spoke English well and could tell Light many details about the area. Light was impressed by her, and the Adelaide Aborigines, remarking on their friendliness and honesty.

It was springtime in the Southern Hemisphere but wintry squalls hampered travel. The Rapid was buffeted up to the place Sally called Yartabulti, soon to be dubbed Port Misery, and later Port Adelaide. It was a good harbour but too swampy for a city. The Rapid sailed south and anchored at Patawalonga Creek in wild winds, the stormiest weather yet. Light named the place Holdfast Bay, as the Rapid managed to stay put, despite the tempestuous waves. The bay was not suitable for a city, as it was reedy and marshy. ‘Just what “patawalonga” means,’ explained Sally in her musical voice, but then added that beyond the reedbeds was a larger river, the Karrawirraparri, or red gum forest river, which meandered down from the hills. Interested, Light ascended a high sandy ridge and was enchanted by the vista which unfolded before him. Was he gazing upon the future new city? On the 3rd of October 1836, Light placed his flagstaff on the ridge to help him construct a chart of the gulf. Winds were still strong as the party sailed south and explored the mouth of the Pooke-paringa where Collet Barker had camped. Although fertile, the area lacked a good harbour. Further down the coast Light spotted a peaceful looking bay which abounded with pelicans, but on coming inland it proved treacherous. Deception Bay, he called it. Ironically, Kirrila had been abducted from there many years earlier.

Light kept coughing up blood. His lungs were being attacked by the onset of tuberculosis and his mind by anxiety, brought on by ‘such repeated bad weather checking our work, and the dread of having a host of emigrants out before I knew where to land them.’

It seemed every time he tried to land, a vicious gale suddenly rose out of nowhere and nearly scuppered him.

Light’s Diary – October 12, 1836: ‘Very fine weather... winter and gales being now over... At eight, we began sending things on shore; at ten the wind shifted to the NNW and WNW, at noon a sudden change of wind to the NNE with sultry and oppressive air; in a few minutes, thunder clouds appeared very near, from the westward; without any previous indications a sudden west wind sprang up, and a high sea... At half past one pm several severe flashes of lightning with thunder close to us, and the rain fell heavy; about two, this squall passed over but we found ourselves in now another gale... hard gales and a high sea throughout the night.’

The Wirra sorcerers smiled in satisfaction. Karndo was doing her job, bringing on tempestuous north westerly winds every time the ship tried to land. The Wirra were determined to use everything in their power to stop the invaders arriving on their soil. Kadlitpina, who supported Murlawirrapurka’s ‘watch and wait’ advice, scolded them.

‘Why should we not use our magic?’ they riposted. ‘The white man uses his. Look at his exploding sticks.’

Wauwe Woman: What? You are suggesting that sorcery was stopping Light from landing? You can’t possibly be serious!

Author: Yes, is this a problem?

Wauwe Woman: It is downright dangerous to accuse the Aborigines of dabbling in sorcery. Don’t you know that’s such inflammable tinder for white man to totally dismiss the black man’s point of view? They will see us as a bunch of barbaric savages. I thought you were garnering sympathy for the Kaurna.

Author: Well I am. So, what do you want me to do? Suppress that information?

Wauwe Woman: Frankly, yes!

Murlawirrapurka, like Colonel Light, also felt weighed down by an onerous task. The future of the Tandanya people was in the balance, and he had been chosen to cope with the impending upheaval. What could he do? His people had lived in this area for thousands of years and had links with Aboriginal groups all over Terra Australis, as the Europeans called it. Each distinct group had its own language and culture and its particular strength to give to the whole: the Ngarrindjeri were politicians and warriors; the Moorundie knew the secrets of the giant river; the Narungga, the tides of the Wongayerlo; and his own people were celebrated educators. Representatives from afar attended the famous banbabanbalya to seek advice from the Red Kangaroo people, renowned for their intellect and wise counsel. They brought disturbing tales of what ghost-skins were doing in other parts of the land. They also brought some good news, of extraordinary weapons and tools, and of a ghost-skin who had traversed the giant river from the east and given black men iron axes. The blacks were impressed – these axes were so sharp, so useful.

Moonlight flooded the sand bank at the mouth of the Ngankaparinga where Murlawirrapurka sat. He was spending time in solitude, accessing the spirits of the land and its deep wells of wisdom. He gazed at the moon shining overhead and thought of Kirrila. When he had first heard that the white captain of the yoko was accompanied by a Kaurna woman, he fervently hoped it was Kirrila. The whole clan had awaited her return. But Sally informed him that she had known Kirrila on Karta, and the last she heard was that Kirrila set out to swim back to the land of her ancestors. Murlawirrapurka looked out to sea and was sure he could see Kirrila’s spirit shining in the shimmer of the moonlight on the water.

Another sadness that weighed upon him was the murder of Collet Barker, the white man whom he had spoken to by this very river. He had liked the feel of his hand, and had seen the spirit of understanding in his eyes. Sally had informed Murlawirrapurka about the circumstances surrounding his murder, as she had been called upon to act as interpreter in the case. The three young Ngarrindjeri explained it was not only revenge that drove them to kill this pale naked man. They were in awe and fear of all white men who seemed to have so much power over them. They knew that whole races in the east had been destroyed by them. White man loomed as a ghostly, invincible spectre. And that strange round weapon that this particular white man carried? How were they to know it wouldn’t destroy them just as mysteriously as the exploding sticks? They wanted to know if a white-skin could actually die. Hence the frenzy with which they ran their spears through and through the hapless Barker; proving that a black man could vanquish a white man; that a black man did have some power over these white invaders, who showed no respect for their ancestral kingdom, let alone their women. While Murlawirrapurka had sympathy with this view, he knew the Ngarrindjeri had killed the wrong white man.

Barker’s companions had explained to Sally what a good man Barker was, especially in his dealings with black men. In Western Australia, Barker had befriended Mokare. Unusually for a white man, he had let himself be guided through Mineng country, graciously accepting Mokare’s authority as its custodian. The two men became close as they camped together under the stars, explaining to each other their different cultural histories and deciphering the meanings of each other’s dreams. When Mokare heard about Barker’s’s demise he was distraught, and organised a group of Aboriginal men to travel the vast distance to the Murray mouth to avenge Barker’s death. But before they could carry out their mission, Mokare died from influenza.

‘Ah that such a good, white man was so cruelly murdered,’ agonised Murlawirrapurka. He loved the hot-headed Ngarrindjeri, who had always helped protect the gentler Kaurna from their common enemies. But he exhorted them to distinguish between good white men and bad white men. Murlawirrapurka knew it must work the other way around too. If white men were afraid of black men, they would be less likely to distinguish between good and bad black men. So far, most white men failed to distinguish between Aboriginal groups at all. They lumped them together as ‘savages’, refusing to recognise the rich variety of culture and hundreds of distinct languages that had resonated throughout this vast southern land for millennia.

Sally also informed Murlawirrapurka that many ships were now docked at Karta, all waiting for Colonel Light to find a place on the mainland for their occupants to live. She predicted that it would be somewhere on the Tandanya plain. Sally told him that these people were different to the sealers and whalers who came and went. It seemed they were here to stay. Her opinion of Light was that he was a good man, hard working and dedicated to his task.

Tindo, the sun, was sending up fingers of light over the sleeping ancestor in the east as Murlawirrapurka walked away from the sea. He surveyed the land, stirring in the splendid wiltutti dawn. Soon, white people would be watching this same dawn. Why were they here? What was his destiny with them? He was arrested by the sound of the crows in the tall eucalyptus trees. ‘Kua, Kua, Kua!’ His spirit guides called him. He was Kua Kertamerru; first born of the crow totem of Murlawirra at Ngaltingga. On completing his initiation ceremonies, he had inherited the totemic rites and songs of his ancestors.

He stretched up welcoming arms towards them. Within their cries he heard, ‘We of the Crow totem are creatures of change. We are here to help you through the tumult that will sweep your ancestral lands. You, Kua Kertamerru Murlawirrapurka, a fine embodiment of the Crow Totem, are charged with the following, “Be mindful of your opinions and actions, and always speak your truth in your life’s mission.”

Your watchword is “Integrity”. This will guide you for the immense task ahead.’

A sailor carried baby Elizabeth Beare from the ‘Duke of York’ on to Kangaroo Island and pressed her chubby feet into the sand; the first imprint of a white settler in South Australia. Samuel Stephens, bristling with importance as colonial manager, was a little peeved, and made sure he was the first adult. Albert Taplow and the Bradshaws, who had suffered Stephens’ sermons for weeks on the high seas, watched wearily as he attempted to instil order laced with Methodist virtues on the hardened sealers of Kangaroo Island. He failed dismally. By the time Walter Bromley – a future Protector of the Aborigines – arrived, the place had degenerated into squabbling, rum-fuelled chaos. Stephens had failed to control not only the sealers but also many of the ship’s crew and settlers who, in the arid, waterless environment, quenched their thirst with the demon rum. Stephens found solace by marrying Charlotte, Elizabeth Beare’s ancient maiden aunt. Bromley, while awaiting the job of Protector of the Aborigines to materialise, started a school for white children under the shade of a large currant tree. The Africaine arrived with colonial secretary, Robert Gouger. He urgently pressed Light to decide where the new city was to be. He was concerned for his wife Harriet, who had discovered during the arduous voyage from England that the nausea she was experiencing before leaving was not only due to anxiety about travelling half way around the world, but also because she was pregnant. Light directed the Africaine, and the swollen-bellied woman to Holdfast Bay.

Midlato was dismantling her wardli at last. The women and children carried their possessions down to the plain as the men hunted game. The extensive freshwater swamps behind the dunes at Patawalonga Creek were rich pickings during wiltutti. Midlato gathered succulent roots of bulrushes and reeds, as well as the eggs of countless water birds. Her special job was to find emu eggs. Members of her totemic group were forbidden to kill emus, to ensure that these large meaty birds would always be plentiful. However, Midlato was free to gather some of their eggs. She crept up quietly behind the male emu who sat on about ten at a time, and deftly removed two or three. Mmmmm. These eggs were delicious and nutritious. In addition, there were many different varieties of grains to be gathered, ground, and baked. Midlato was digging for roots with her katta, when her older brother Milte-widlo shouted from the top of a sand dune, ‘Yoko, yoko.’ Children scattered and screamed. ‘White sharks! White sharks. They are here!’

Among the adults, heated discussions were afoot about the impending invasion. Wirra children hunted for a certain kind of bird dropping at Yartabulti so that Wirra sorcerers could make a special charm to keep white-skins out. Young warriors advocated war tactics but knew they were at a disadvantage – this was an unknown enemy who had already vanquished eastern peoples with their magic weapons. While some thought ghost-skins were long lost ancestors, others hoped that by ignoring them, they might go away. Murlawirrapurka reminded everyone that the traditional Kaurna role was as educators, and they would just have to teach these ghost-skins how to behave on their land, just as Mokare had taught Barker. Murlawirrapurka advocated that first, they watch and wait.

From the vantage point of a leafy gum, Midlato and Milte-widlo espied strange white people being rowed from the ship. They watched as sailors carried them through the surf on to the hard sand. Midlato was particularly struck by a girl with green eyes, who squealed as a wave swept up and drenched her. Midlato gazed with wonder and fear. She couldn’t understand why this girl wore so many strange coverings all over her body. She was encased in them, with hardly any skin showing. A wardli type thing, which had spread out in the water, draped her body; black stuff encased her legs and pelt imprisoned her feet.

‘Perhaps white skin is delicate,’ Midlato said to Milte-widlo.

White-skins squinted in the hot sun as it bounced off the white sand. They began banging sticks into the ground and putting up strange wardlis. Midlato was intrigued that they didn’t use bark or tree branches but thin white pelts, similar to those she saw billowing from the ships.

Harriet Gouger’s birth was imminent and she was desperate to get on land after enduring days of rolling about on interminable waves. But even after the sea calmed down, landing still proved to be a nightmare. Small boats had to bring her and other passengers to the sand bar in Holdfast Bay. She then suffered more discomfort and indignity, as she was carried on the shoulders of sailors through choppy seas to the shore.

After weeks of cramped accommodation and being blown half way around the world, the new settlers looked at where they had landed. Holdfast Bay was as lush as Kangaroo Island was arid. Majestic gums rose behind the rolling sand dunes dredged with flowers and sedge. Honey myrtle and golden wattle lined the creeks, infusing the air with sublime scent. Further inland, vast lagoons fed by fresh water springs gave way to dramatic gullies. Settlers struggled in the robust winds to put up makeshift shelters. Robert Gouger hastily constructed his tent near a couple of shady gums, while the goats and chickens he had imported foraged in the new terrain. Gouger’s servants created as comfortable a space as possible for the impending birth. Harriet had to make do with sandy floors which crawled with insects, and canvas ceilings which dropped more. Fortunately, they had brought with them comfortable couches to sleep on, a godsend when Robert narrowly missed being bitten by a scorpion lurking on the floor. Then Harriet had to contend with the continual barking of bullfrogs in nearby lagoons and, worse still, being attacked by swarms of mosquitoes.

Floods of white cockatoos squawked an incessant cacophony, which sounded like, ‘Go home. Go home!’ I wish I could, thought Harriet, nursing her heavy abdomen, idealising the precious past and fearing the unknown future. As well as the impending birth, she was worried by spots of blood that were appearing when she coughed. But there were recompenses – the vegetation was alive with an array of exotic birds: laughing kookaburras; warbling magpies; bronze-winged pigeons; and green parrots. A flock of rainbow lorikeets fought noisily for a perch on top of a large printing press transported by Robert Thomas, the government printer. His daughter Helen gathered bunches of yellow flowers that smelt like new mown hay and strewed them over their tent floor, creating a fragrant carpet. Albert Taplow, the young Quaker, helped construct a storehouse which was filled with surveying equipment, supplies and gunpowder.

On November 11^th Gouger and Light walked inland along the Karrawirraparri, and were encouraged by the country before them. It was swathed in luxuriant grass reminiscent of an English park, studded by sheoaks, eucalypt and native pines, and framed by ‘those enchanted hills’. Light became more and more convinced that this was where Adelaide should lie.

All around the Holdfast settlement tufts of kangaroo grass abounded with brown quail and ground parrots. Albert Taplow went exploring and chanced upon Miltewidlo making a fire in the nearby dunes. Terrified, the boy made to run away, but hesitated when Albert offered him biscuits. Albert’s uncle had tirelessly campaigned for the end of slavery and Albert was keen to make friends with the natives. He beckoned Milte-widlo into the white camp and showed him the store house and his tent. Milte-widlo goggled at what he saw, especially the magical lucifer sticks which so easily started fires. He ran off excitedly to tell Midlato.

Camped at the edge of a sand dune, Ellen Bradshaw struggled to light a fire to boil water for tea. She had run out of lucifer sticks and was trying to use a flint. She saw some black children watching her unsuccessful efforts. Milte-widlo had brought back Midlato, who stared in wonder. Eventually her brother ventured over and very dexterously rubbed a stick into a stone and managed to get the fire alight. Her billy boiled and she gratefully made a nice cup of tea. Both children were amazed at the water boiling in the billy. The winds had died down and the sun beat fiercly onto the camp. With the heat came more insects and more ominous looking creatures. Ellen Bradshaw’s daughter Lucy screamed when she saw what she thought was a dragon. Midlato recognised her as the girl with green eyes. She picked up the dragon and stroked its head, showing Lucy that it was a harmless kalta or sleepy lizard. As she did so a stunning butterfly with black, white, red and yellow markings fluttered past. ‘Pilyabilya,’ pointed Midlato. ‘Pilyabilya,’ repeated Lucy slowly, giving the black girl a big smile, ‘What a beautiful word for butterfly.’ Lucy was intrigued by Midlato’s headband. It had what looked like teeth dangling from it.

Gouger tried to make his wife as comfortable as possible. He was relieved that initial encounters with the natives had been friendly. He wrote in his diary, ‘I felt great anxiety respecting them and hoped our province would be unstained by native blood.’

The weather got hotter and hit 103 degrees as Christmas approached.

James Cronk proved his labouring skills by sinking the first well in the new colony. It went to fourteen feet and tapped a moderate supply of fresh water.

The number of settlers reached 300 as they waited patiently for Governor Hindmarsh to arrive on the Buffalo, and for a decision to be made about where the new city would be sited.

Christmas 1836 was 105 degrees. The settlers, stiflingly hot in their starched collars and stiff bonnets, insisted on a traditional Christmas dinner; roast beef and plum pudding, supplemented by pork and parrot pie. Fresh beef was courtesy of a cow, which having survived months on the deepest of oceans, drowned in a lagoon! A Christmas service was held in a large tent. Light, exhausted from all his hard work, was too ill to join in the festivities.

Midlato was intrigued by the clucking birds in cages near the white-skins’ tents. She watched the girl with green eyes gather their eggs.

How easy to collect those, she thought. Midlato picked ground figs and quandong berries and gave them to Lucy Bradshaw. Lucy handed her a penny in return, grateful for some fruit after the long sea journey.

Midlato couldn’t wait to find a hidey-hole so that she could look at her treasure. It felt round and warm in her hand. She nestled in the hollow of a gum tree hidden by tall grass, and gazed at her prize. She marvelled at its perfect roundness, like the sun or a full moon, and a bit like a smooth pebble in the river. She put the object between her teeth. It was hard. Must be made of puri or stone. The colour reminded her of the shiny brown back of a reed beetle.

‘Ah!’ she gasped at the image. The head of a man, perched on a fat neck, looked into the distance. Her heart leapt. Was this an ancestor of the ghost-skins? If so, how clever of them to etch his picture on this piece of brown puri. She marvelled to see tiny inscriptions around the edge of the disc. She turned it over and gasped again. A resplendent looking figure held a spear and a shield. Midlato was puzzled – the breasts showed it was female. A female ancestor who had a spear and a shield? Only the men of her people ever handled such weapons. It was a strange looking spear with three prongs. Looking more closely at the shield she saw a design on it – similar to what she had seen on sticks, flying in the breeze at Patawalonga Creek. The design reminded her of a simple spider web. There was something strange on top of the woman’s head. What was it? It looked like a creature crawling over her head and down her back. A snake? Or perhaps some kind of possum? Or perhaps it was a large feather. Or even cockatoo feathers, she thought excitedly, just like her people wore in ceremonies. She would have to show this to her kammammi – what would she make of it?

Wauwe Woman: Oy, it pains me that you have Midlato looking at this penny with such wonder. The poor little mite. If she only knew what she was looking at.

Author: The man with the fat neck? It was William IV – a bit of a buffoon, ten illegitimate children; not quite as mad as his father, George IV, who kept a pet giraffe in his palace, but harmless enough.

Wauwe Woman: Harmless! I’ll have you know, this so-called common ‘ancestor’ was one of the most vociferous opponents to the abolition of slavery. Argued in Parliament that it would be the end of the British Empire.

Wirra Woman: How right he was.

Wauwe Woman: He talked of his duty to keep the slaves ‘happy’ in Jamaica.

Author: Well Midlato didn’t know any of that, did she?

The heatwave on the Tandanya plain pulsed relentlessly. The settlers, stuffed with Christmas pudding, scanned the sea anxiously for the arrival of the Governor and Resident Commissioner. Why the delay? Their world had been reduced to this camp, filled with blowflies by day, and blood-engorged mosquitoes by night. Then at long last – a sail! The settlers, flushed with excitement, ran to the edge of the water and watched the portly Governor being carried ashore on the backs of several sailors. A marine guard of honour flanked Hindmarsh, as he stepped out onto his new domain. At his elbow strutted James Hurtle Fisher, wanting to assert his joint authority as Commissioner. Things had begun badly on the Buffalo, when both jostled interminably over which members of their large families should sit at the Governor’s table. The ship was overcrowded, made worse by all the livestock Hindmarsh insisted on transporting, including dogs, cows, poultry, and mules.

The Proclamation was read by George Stevenson, Hind-marsh’s secretary. The British flag was unfurled. Cannons fired a 21-gun royal salute.

The air rang with hurrahs as a lunch of cold pork and a ham was served. The Governor mounted a chair and announced the first toast, ‘The King.’ During the national anthem Lucy Bradshaw giggled as Osmond Gilles, the crown treasurer, already tanked with rum, gustily sang ‘God save George our King’, forgetting the salient fact that it was now a William who had been on the throne for six years.

‘Rule, Britannia’ was sung, and as evening descended more cannons were fired.

In all the excitement, only Albert Taplow took notice of the part in the Proclamation, which declared that the Governor ‘would take every lawful means to secure to the Aborigines the rights of British subjects.’

The said ‘Aborigines’, who watched from various hiding points, ran away in terror every time they heard the deafening salutes. Even the Wirra sorcerers could not produce such thunder on demand. For Harriet Gouger, the reverberations heralded the start of labour. At dawn, she gave birth. Gouger happily wrote, ‘My wife gave the new province a son! He is claimed by the Governor as his godson, as being the first child born in the colony, after the establishment of the Government.’ The baby was aptly christened Henry Hindmarsh.

Governor Hindmarsh charged Robert Thomas to print the new proclamation, and ordered his marines to carry the printing press to a hut built for the purpose. The rainbow lorikeets quickly found a new perch on Mrs Hindmarsh’s piano.

In his continued race against time, Light eschewed the formalities of the Governor’s landing, and walked the six miles inland to check out his proposed site for Adelaide. He decided that’s where it would be, writing, ‘Nature has done so much that very little human labour and cost is requisite to make this one of the finest settlements in the whole world.’

Midlato and Milte-widlo wandered around the edge of the camps, gazing curiously at all the paraphernalia these white people possessed. Midlato saw Lucy carrying a strange long contraption that opened up into a beautiful picture over her head. ‘Parasol.’ said the white girl, laughing at the expression on Midlato’s face. Midlato noticed this ‘parasol’ shaded her pale face. Charles Moon, a sailor from the Buffalo, beckoned Milte-widlo to come aboard his ship.

‘No!’ Midlato screamed in panic. ‘Don’t go, you will never come back. They will take you to the land of the dead.’

After a great deal of gesticulation, Milte-widlo was finally coaxed on board, leaving two bemused whites behind as hostages. Midlato watched and waited anxiously. It seemed an eternity before she saw him tottering back. His foolish grin convinced Midlato that white-skins had taken away his senses.

‘Fire-water, we drank fire-water. It was so good and the food – excellent.’ Milte-widlo rubbed his belly in great satisfaction.

Midlato’s kammammi was not amused when her grandson came lurching back to the wardli. She shook her head sadly. She didn’t like the way he smelt.

‘They were nice, very nice. They have so many things; such wonderful food, such excellent fire-water. They are our long-lost brothers and together we will be so happy.’

His grandmother did not share his gushing enthusiasm. She knew Milte-widlo was young and impetuous and easily swayed. She didn’t like the way his eyes rolled. She hadn’t reckoned on this ‘fire-water’. She recoiled from the notion and had a premonition that it would be very bad for the future of her people. She felt old and weary as she looked into the fire and sighed, ‘Hmmph!’

Over the next few days, in relentless heat, Light had to endure opposition to his proposal for where Adelaide should lie. The corpulent Hindmarsh, puffing and huffing to the site, (no horse-drawn carriages here!) complained that it was too far from the sea. ‘My good man, Britain is a maritime empire – unheard of to have a city so far from the sea.’ Settlers meanwhile baked in their tents and waited while the worthies argued. Light attempted to compromise by suggesting they place the city closer to the coast, but after observing signs that the river flooded there, reverted to his original decision, much to Hindmarsh’s annoyance. James Hurtle Fisher supported Light, if only to oppose Hindmarsh’s authority. As resident commissioner, he appointed the South Australian Light and his surveyor Finniss to set up their camp at a spot by the river, just west of the Tandanya rock. More ships arrived. Flies and insects and exotic creepy-crawlies became even more bothersome. Of the flies, Gouger wrote, ‘Nothing can equal their cruel perseverance.’ Ann Finniss, after surviving gruelling months at sea and a sandy flyblown tent, graced the new colony with the first birth for the year of 1837. Wife and child were trundled six miles in a whicker boat on wheels, to where Finiss had set up his survey tent.

So, by natural increase as well as immigration, Wakefield’s South Australia started to grow. But immediately ahead lay trouble.

Ityamai-itpina came back from hunting, and listened to Milte-widlo’s excited babble. He decided to check things out for himself. He tentatively pushed open the door of the new storehouse and saw three white men. Albert Taplow was showing George Stevenson the huge stock of seeds he had organised. Albert spied the black man and beckoned him in. He was delighted to be in close proximity to such a fierce looking warrior, daubed with paint and except for his yudna, naked. Ityamai-itpina put down his spear and gazed around the store, agog with wonder. He espied a blue jacket with shiny buttons and yellow cuffs. Albert approached him, and much to his surprise started shaking his hand. After quite a lot of shaking Albert kept pointing at the black man’s hand and it took a while for Ityamai-itpina to realise he wanted to know the Kaurna word for hand. Ityamaiitpina wasn’t sure he should tell him. The metal buttons glinted so seductively that he finally uttered, ‘marra.’ ‘Marra,’ repeated George Stevenson, who came forward and started shaking his ‘marra’ vigorously. ‘I’m George.’ As well as being Hindmarsh’s secretary he had also been appointed first interim Aboriginal Protector, so thought he’d better get acquainted with these ‘savages’, as he preferred to call them.

‘Joj,’ Ityamai-itpina smiled, displaying ‘a mouthful of the finest teeth’ Stevenson had ever seen.

‘You?’ George pointed at him.

‘Ityamai-itpina.’

‘It... what? I tell you what I’m going to call you Rodney. King Rodney.’

Ityamai-itpina looked blank and started touching the shiny buttons on the jacket in wonder. George coaxed him to put it on, and also some trousers.

‘I’m going to introduce King Rodney to our civilised ways,’ announced George. ‘Now that he is decently dressed.’ He led Ityamai-itpina out of the storehouse and guided him towards his ship, the Buffalo. Ityamai-itpina was wary – was this just a ploy? Was the white-skin trying to trap him? He signalled that he would only go to the ship if he could return. Albert, who was following, nodded that he understood and performed an elaborate mime to show how Ityamai-itpina could go on to the ship and then come back again. The black man liked Albert. He wasn’t so sure about ‘Joj.’ Albert looked directly into his eyes, which he found reassuring. When they reached the ship, Ityamai-itpina jumped at the sight of a strange animal on the prow.

‘A buffalo,’ explained Albert, laughing, miming a buffalo with horns. The black man couldn’t believe his eyes as he went on board. He had marvelled at these ships from afar, but now he could see the ropes, masts and sails in their intricate detail. He was in awe of the workmanship involved. The Kaurna were proud of their fibre culture, but these ropes and riggings were unbelievable. How did the ghost-skins do it? He entered a long low room where other white men were sitting at a wooden structure, piled with delicious smelling food. The men smiled and welcomed him, beckoning him to sit down and eat. Ityamai-itpina watched George, who picked up some finely wrought implements, and proceeded to cut and spear the food, then place it in his mouth. Ityamaiitpina carefully observed how the sharp bladed implement was held, and how the many-pronged spear worked. Soon he was able to slice some of the cooked meat and put it in his mouth. George was impressed by his dexterity. Milte-widlo had been right. This meat was extraordinarily good.

‘Beef,’ said George, pointing to the chunks of meat on the plate. Ityamai-itpina, smiling broadly, his white teeth glinting in the light of the lamps, went on to savour fish, tongue, and plum pudding. What tastes, sights and sounds! A ghost-skin seated himself at another wooden structure which supported a large array of large perfectly even teeth, and started pushing the teeth up and down. Ityamai-itpina couldn’t believe the enchanting sound that issued forth, like the tinkling of a waterfall. Then to top it all, another ghost-skin blew into a shiny winbirra, as silvery as the moon. The resulting tune engendered in Ityamai-itpina a totally irresistible desire to dance. Like for all the Kaurna, dancing was deep in his blood, as was the spirit of exchange. These white-skins had graced him with food and beautiful music. In return, he wanted to offer them his dance. He eagerly mimed at George, ‘I want to dance.’ But George shook his head, (he must assert his white superiority and test this native’s obedience!) The music continued. Ityamai-itpina mimed again, ‘I want to dance.’ Again, the white man shook his head. But the black man could not suppress the urge to dance that welled up within him. It was unbearable. Undeterred, he mimed again.

Albert who was watching all this burst out, ‘Mr Stevenson, please sir, I beg you. Allow this man to dance!’

‘Yes,’ said Robert Cock, a Scotsman who had endured the interminable squabbles between Hindmarsh, Stevenson and Fisher on the gruelling sea journey. ‘Let him dance.’

George, not looking too pleased, wiped his fingers slowly on a napkin, and at last deigned to nod. Ityamai-itpina leapt up ecstatically and ‘began kicking and dancing with all his might.’ The whites cheered and clapped.

George wrote in his diary that Ityamai-itpina possessed ‘a degree of archness and quickness which places this race many degrees above the savage.’

Wirra Woman: What a condescending boor!

Ityamai-itpina was impressed by what he had seen, and was grinning happily as Albert and Robert Cock escorted him back to dry land. Ityamai-itpina returned to his countrymen, sporting his blue jacket with metal buttons. They took one look at his strange garb and ran away in fright. Only when he took the jacket off did they accept him back and listened to his stories, open-mouthed. Perhaps these people were old ancestors, who having learnt incredible skills and amassed great riches, had been resurrected and impelled back to their beloved land of birth; a deep pull every Kaurna knew intimately. Why else would these pale people come in such numbers? It didn’t look like they were just setting up a trading post, like the Karta sealers. It must be that they were returning to share their good fortune with their black brothers.

Only the elders sighed and kept mum. Let him believe for a while that all this is good, they thought, as they stared into the camp fire embers. They will learn the truth soon enough.