Читать книгу The Hermit Convict - Rev. William Draper - Страница 12

Table of Contents

We must retrace our steps a little to visit a blackfellows' camp of the olden time. There may have been Roman noses, and lovely eyes, charming lips, nicely turned arms, and superb swan-like necks, in the camp of natives to which Mogara, a half-caste woman, belonged, but if there were such pleasing excellencies, they were most likely hidden under some striking peculiarity of dress, paint, or other ornament. About this everlasting subject dress, how inexhaustible are the terms which one must learn before an attempt is made to launch forth on this ever restless sea. A new name is coined, it is heard everywhere from the cottage to the palace. Take it into the study and attempt to solve its derivation, and this is just as possible as it would be to publish to the world the true history of the sphinx. Fustian and cloth no doubt were fashionable fifty years ago, as a suitable material to make coats and breeches for a very huge portion of Britain's subjects, but if the Court milliner could be clever enough to describe the dress of some of the natives of Australia, he or she (which is right?) would hardly be bold enough to recommend it as suitable costume for fashionable life. Certainly it is frequently the most primitive of all clothing, and, if report is true, and there is every reason to believe that it is, two of the oldest and best known of all the people that have ever lived in this world, were clad in this costume before any such thing as sin entered into their thoughts.

Eagle Hawk, as he is sitting on his throne, which is a glass sward, with a huge gum tree against which to rest his back, would say that he has always found this primitive dress the cheapest, the most comfortable, and the easiest to wash and get up, of any that was ever invented. The old man, nevertheless, had an eye to fine clothes once, and was tempted to covet them quite as strongly as Eve was tempted to take the forbidden treasure. He had picked up a convict's dress, which had been discarded for a most indefinite period by one of His Majesty's most humble servants, who, singularly enough, had a remarkable preference for liberty versus servitude. As the dress would have been extremely inconvenient in the new sphere of action which this gentleman had chosen for himself, even without consulting those who might possibly have urged some objections to his departure from certain food and lodging, he generously left it on the side of the road which led to the opposite direction to that which he intended to take. Old Eagle Hawk had found it, and was exceedingly pleased with his prize. It is true he perspired rather freely under the influence of such an extraordinary addition to his usual wardrobe; but, as use is said to be second nature, so the old man continued to sport his new costume for some months. One day, in an abstract mood of admiration of the red coats at the convict camp, he drew near enough to them to be seen. The alarm bell was rung, and he was pursued. His swift legs and better knowledge of the country saved him from capture; but when he reached the camp, he vented his rage on the offending dress by stuffing it full of dry grass, and, after sundry remarkable military exercises with spear and shield, supposed to be a peculiar and extremely original sort of tournament between himself and the stuffed convict, he finally set it on fire, and danced a wild orgie until it was consumed. Eagle Hawk never wore any dress after that day.

But while we have been describing his adventure, the old man has arisen from his primitive throne. If it is possible to look two ways at once, he must have been doing so; for one might have taken an affidavit that he was intently watching something straight before him, whereas, in fact, he was keenly and closely calculating how soon the boat which was conveying Judd up the river would reach the point of the creek near to which the camp was pitched. At length he spoke: "Ballu! Boat-no get up; storm, thunder, rain!" These words were spoken in the native tongue, but instantly the camp was on the qui vive. A dozen blackfellows, very ugly, but far more powerful men than those which walk about the streets of Australian towns at the present day, answered the old man's summons. White people had not educated them to be drunkards then—at least, this remark applies to the Moreton Bay district—very rarely indeed could they obtain "the fire drink." Their hand was also against the white man. They would have exterminated all the race if they had had the power. The language of these people is very musical, but exceedingly vague and unintelligible. If an illustration of the musical is required, it may be found in the highly romantic names of the Australian districts. The ring of those words upon the tongue is the essential accompaniment of musical sounds. True, it is all very rough, severely savage, but there is method in the asperity of the dialect, as well as in the originality of their habits. Vices of course abound—hellish vices—which have cruelty for their author, and the supreme court of hell alone as their defender. But what has the white man done to try to teach them better things? We found the black man on the soil; we did not buy the land—no, not even nominally, with justice to him; we forced him back—now a little, then a little more—until to-day the poor wretched creatures are most deplorable outcasts. Hundreds of men must go down to the grave, and to the bar of inflexible justice, with the red blood of many of these poor creatures on their heads. There are men in the colonies who say calmly that there is no remedy but shooting the wretches down, as you would a kangaroo or a dingo. We glory in our freedom; but, knowing what will be the result, we deliberately drive these aborigines into destruction, and rejoice over the undoubted fact that they are dying out of the land. It is a dark picture—a terrible crime—a dreadful page to read in the book of retribution; and yet, what have ministers of the Gospel or Christian professors done to stem the torrent of this iniquity? There has been no Elijah to face this hideous Baal. "Thou hast killed and taken possession!" is the charge, and the only answer we make is, "It is expedient."

Many of the tribe to which Eagle Hawk belonged had been cruelly massacred by British troops, without the slightest provocation. That the blacks retaliated is only the natural sequel.

Hence it was all alike to them; stranger or no stranger, a white skin was the target for their mark. In the desire for revenge, they were constantly stimulated by the extraordinary influence of their absolute queen, Mogara. She was a remarkably fine specimen of female symmetry and savage beauty, her mother being as tall as herself, and her father—an officer in the British army—a man as tall as a life guardsman, and of gigantic strength. It is not necessary now to allude further to the cruel deception of which he was guilty, or to the wrongs of the mother, which the daughter tried her utmost to revenge.

Two years after the death of her mother, the tribe to which Mogara and Eagle Hawk belonged migrated northward, and settled in the Moreton Bay district. A long-standing quarrel was the primary cause of this exodus from the Hunter River district, to which they had gone about five years previously. The particulars of these quarrels it is extremely difficult to ascertain. But the day of battle was fixed, and both sides used the interval in the most formidable preparations. Boomerangs, currywong wattles, and spears were manufactured by the hundred; tomahawks, shields, and clubs were collected together; and, when nearly three hundred were thus equipped, externally the respective armies appeared invincible. Upon the day when the struggle was to take place, both tribes marched up in single file to the appointed place, which was an open sandy flat upon the borders of the river, near what is now known as "Umpie Bong." Here they sat down at a distance of about forty yards between the two lines. For some minutes not a word was spoken on either side, but at last one of the men of the Mogara tribe (the term is not correct, but it will serve as a distinction) arose, and after a very rapidly delivered address, he pointed to Eagle Hawk, who then rose, and stated the cause of the dispute, ending his speech with a flourish of his boomerang, which he threw from him with great violence, but with the usual skill of the natives, so that it performed its circle of flight, and returning, fell close to the warrior's feet. He then challenged to single combat the man whom he accused as the offender in the dispute. The speech was delivered in a most vehement manner, and with the frequent use of the word yambel, by which he intended to charge the whole tribe with lying and meanness.

As he concluded, the whole of the men on both sides arose, and shouted with indescribable vehemence, which was their method of expressing their assent to the trial by single combat, as Eagle Hawk had proposed. Then a tall, muscular blackfellow on the opposite side stepped out of the ranks of his country men, and walked half way across the space which divided the hostile armies, Eagle Hawk in like manner advancing to meet him, and all the warriors again sat down to witness the struggle.

Both the combatants were fully armed, and were renowned as experienced warriors. As spectators of the fight there were nearly 600 men, besides women and children. Boomerangs were the first weapons, for the order of battle was previously arranged. These simple, but effective implements of native warfare were delivered with sure but terrible effect. Eagle Hawk was struck, and his left shoulder was laid open, his opponent's cheek was struck, a ghastly wound being the result. The cries of the spectators hereupon became exceeding loud, but not one moved from his place. Blood had been drawn, and they knew that the fight must soon come to an issue. The spear was the next weapon; retiring back from each other, until a convenient distance was reached, both the combatants threw at the same moment. The blood which flowed from the cheek of Eagle Hawk's opponent nearly blinded him, so that his aim was not so sure as it otherwise would have been. Not so the aim of Eagle Hawk; his spear entered the left side of his opponent, he gave one leap off the ground, and fell down dead.

Instantly there was a rush to the centre, both sides joining in an indiscriminate struggle. How long it would have lasted, or how it would have ended, no one could have told, but in less than a minute from the death of Eagle Hawk's opponent, fifty muskets were levelled at the savage group, and most of them had marked a victim. With a cry of horror the rest fled, one only, besides the dead and the wounded, was left behind. Concealed behind a rock about a quarter of a mile away, Mogara saw the massacre, and as her tribe fled, calmly, but with the visage of a tigress, she stood her ground. In a few minutes the military detachment issued from the scrub from which they had dealt out their deadly fire, and slowly defiled upon the field of battle. Here a horrid sight presented itself. Nearly fifty of the poor wretches had received gunshot wounds, several were dead, and as many were mortally wounded.

"A useful lesson, Brown," said the officer who commanded the soldiers. "We had to do this several times down South before these black devils would leave the settlement."

Sir Englishman, how many innocent white men and women have been murdered because of your cruel work? Mogara, perhaps, with her keen, arrow-like, speaking eyes, watching your retreat, could tell. History cannot.