I did my utmost to arrest the contamination of civilization. Many times I sought facilities to pitch my camp at Boonja Water, sixty miles north, or at Wandunya Water, 140 miles north-west, where I might have retained many of the natives about me, to lead their own natural lives without clothing and without cunning. At Ooldea, not wishing to interfere5 in their associations with the white people, who were always kind to them, I could do no more than think for them with my “black-fellow’s mind,” dispensing6 my Kabbarli wisdom for what it was worth from the knowledge gained through half a lifetime, and my Kabbarli comfort to the very limit of my means and my physical endurance. I could not keep them long enough with me to hope for the humblest results, for even when I had plenty of food for weeks, they would still go on, up and down the line, wandering for any reason or noreas on. “Koorda kombinyil” (Heart getting hot!) they told me, and, clambering on the trains, would be off, in their nomad7 eagerness, to Tarcoola, to Kalgoorlie, to anywhere between.
Apart from the effects of malnutrition8 and epidemics9 and disease, death-magics and bone-pointing had always to be combated. When they believed that the bone of a dead man had been levelled at them by an enemy, they would lie down in their little beehive bough-shelters and refuse all food unless I took the magic out of their bodies. I was generally successful in my treatment of these purely11 psychological but often fatal illnesses, and would solemnly remove and burn and bury the offending magic, gaining a great reputation as dhoogoor maamw ngangarli (doctor of old-time witchcrafts).
Death quickly claimed the weakest of the newcomers. It is sad reading in my diary of the deaths of young people in those days at Ooldea. Some had been but a few months in touch with civilization when they turned aside from their groups to die, and those who had drifted away came back always with their numbers lessened12.
There were a few who assimilated easily and survived amazingly. Nyan-ngauera, who came down with the first group in 1920, is still on the line, a case-hardened beggar. With another group from the border was one little girl, Nandari, about nine years old, of marked intelligence and spirit. After a few days she set off by herself on a goods train to Cook, where she changed for Kalgoorlie, and was so delighted with the adventure that she spent most of the next three years travelling up and down on every train that would give her a footing.
My work, as always, was confined to attendance upon the sick and feeble, the very old, and the very young. For the full-grown healthy male natives I had neither rations13 nor blankets. I encouraged their hunting-crafts and the subsistence upon their own foods, which were to the natives plentiful14 in good seasons, nourishing and suitable.
In that grey and apparently15 barren bush, where a white man would starve to death if left to his own resources, the healthy native could find food in plenty, mulga apples, acrid16 but sustaining, quandongs white and red, kalgula and koolyoo, a potato-bulb creeper trailing over the jam-wood trees, fruits and roots and berries innumerable, edible17 grasses and beans. Kangaroo and emu had become rare, but the white man’s rabbit had taken their places in myriads18. There were mallee-hens in the valleys and frogs in the swamps. A harrowing thing it is to see them squeeze the water from these frogs and throw them on the coals. Everything is eaten half raw, save the rabbit, which is well cooked, and every bird and beast and creeping thing provided a meal, including the banded ant-eater and the barking lizard19. Many of the interesting botanical and reptilian20 specimens21 that I have forwarded to Australian and British Museums were rescued from annihilation in the natives’ evening fire. The only living thing they conscientiously22 objected to devouring23 was the marsupial24 mole25, that quaint26 little creature of the Nullarbor Plain so seldom unearthed27 that the natives believe that it never brought forth28 a baby. The mawgu, or witchetty, a delicate white grub found in the roots and bark of mallee and mulga and other trees, with its creamy almond flavour, was the favourite dessert, but, though highly popular throughout Central Australia, it was eaten sparingly by the wise, who found it rich to biliousness29.
As each group came and went, it left me the legacy30 of its derelicts. Veiled from the flies-and the flies of the Ooldea mallee in the summer season are a monotony of torture-I threaded the camps in some miles of difficult sand-walking, with the day’s provisions slung31 over my shoulder in calico bags. The frocks I distributed to the new arrivals were frequently burned in a night from ignorance or carelessness at the sleeping fires. The food would be shared with all who laid claim to it. There was a terrible instance of this in Ngannana, a woman who came in with six or seven men, all naked and very primitive32. I showed her how to make a damper and gave her a bag of flour. Next day I found her savagely33 mutilated, and learned that the men who could lawfully34 do so had taken all the food from her. When her great hulking son had come in to find none spared for him, his fiendish revenge was the act of a wild animal.
When Mooja–Moojana’s mob came in, some semi-civilized relatives showed the man a tomahawk. It was such a vast improvement upon his old flint yabu that Mooja felt its edge in wonderment, kept it near him as a treasure, and when his woman returned from the day’s reptile35 hunting, almost cleft36 her buttock in two as an experiment. I confiscated37 the tomahawk, spent the morning refining the subtle differences between “waijela” and “waddi” in this regard, and threatened to call in waijela policeman (baleejeman) should he offend again.
In November, 1920, an epidemic10 of sandy blight38 broke out among the natives young and old, and in attending them I developed the complaint myself, a very painful granulation that resulted for a time in almost total blindness. The nearest doctor was at Port Augusta, 427 miles away. I dared not venture beyond the confines of my breakwind, but I could thread the well-known tracks within it without injury, and grope my way to the pipe-line for water. By covering all the things I used most with white tops, I could manage to attend to my own needs, and to feed the natives, who daily brought me firewood. They were amazed at my affliction and looked upon me with “Physician, heal thyself!” written very legibly upon their faces, for was I not ngangarli, doctor of all magic hearings? The recurrent attacks of this malady39 that I endured alone in the ensuing years were the most difficult periods I have known in all my life. Not once but several times, bending over my open fire-place to make my cup of tea, a smell of burning has been my only warning that my clothing was on fire. So grave and so prolonged was this first attack that I believed I was threatened with permanent blindness, and early in 1922 made the thousand-mile journey to Perth to consult an oculist40. That was to be the last holiday-if holiday it can be called-for twelve years of so much increasing difficulty and disheartenment that, had it not been for the guiding light of my ideals of service, and my deep love and sympathy for the natives, I could never have lived them through.
Twenty-five, and sometimes forty at a time, would come to me for food and clothing. I loved to hear them chattering41 outside the breakwind, and if I had recently received a cheque for an article, there was plenty for all. There was an eclipse of the sun on September 21, 1922, and the natives ran to me in fear. They told me that the hand of maamu-waddi, the spirit man, was covering the earth while the sun and moon were guri-arra-husband and wife together. They believed that it presaged42 disaster, and clung to my clothing as I sat with my smoked glasses, quietly observing the phenomenon.
“You see,” I said, “Kabbarli gathers the maamu to her, so that it cannot hurt you,” and they were quietened.
Nevertheless, disaster was on our track.
In 1922, two bores put down at the Ooldea Soak resulted in an outgush of-salt water. It was the beginning of the end of this magical Yuldil-gabbi that had not failed its people in hundreds, perhaps thousands, of generations. In the few brief years since the white man’s coming, 52 wells had been sunk, providing 70,000 gallons a week for the railway. The late H. Y. L. Brown, one of Australia’s greatest pioneer geologists43, had advised that no boring should be undertaken, but in continual experiment the blue clay-bed that formed a natural reservoir had apparently been pierced. The waters became brackish44, injurious to the engines, unpleasant to the taste, and gradually seeped45 away. In October, 1926, Ooldea Soak closed down. The two towering tanks at the siding, from which supplies had been freighted up and down the line, were now useless. A number of 400-gallon tanks were installed at each siding and the fettlers’ weekly supplies were brought from Kingoonya over 100 miles eastward46, and Kalgoorlie, 600 miles west. The natives were forbidden access to these tanks and forced to procure47 their water direct from the Soak three and a half miles away, where one well even yet yields a limited supply. The valuable pumping machinery48 was guarded against them, and they had to beg for their water.
My only recourse was to carry my supplies a little over a mile across the steep sand-hills in two four-gallon kerosene49 tin buckets twice and sometimes three times a day. The unaccustomed strain on my arms led me to try all sorts of ruses50. I first adopted the old English dairy-yoke method, but my digging-stick was unsteady and galled51 my shoulders. I tried a series of billy-cans and more frequent journeys, very wearying in the hot sun. I even emulated52 the natives by balancing a kerosene-bucket on my head with a monguri-a circular head-pad stuffed with hair and fur-string-but stumbling and stubbing my toes often sent the bucket flying, deluging53 me with my supply. I could never accomplish more than eight gallons in one journey, and when a thirsty native came out of the wilds and pointed54 to his lips, I would give him a gallon in one gulp55. Restrictions56 were rigid57. I was in honour bound to give my water only to the weak, and had to watch till they finished it, otherwise it would be wolfed by the others, or poured on their heads for coolness.
Water-carrying became more and more strenuous58, and as I approached the allotted59 span I sent a request to the railway workshops at Port Augusta, asking that a little go-cart to carry two tins might be made. The cart duly arrived, in the nineteen-thirties, and the makers60 refused payment, a kindly61 gesture that I appreciated. The weight of water over the rough track twice broke the wheels in the heavy sand, and eventually iron wheels three inches wide had to be fitted. The empty cart was heavier than the full cart, a matter I have never been able to explain. To the very last week of my camp life I trundled this heavy load over the sand-hills, in the summer making three and sometimes four two-mile journeys in the day.
The failure of the water-supply coincided with the commencement of an eight-year’s drought, perhaps the worst in South Australian history. Year after year, little or no rain fell upon the parched62 earth. The mighty63 Plain was but a shadow of the pale empty skies. Native foods dwindled64 and vanished, fruit and root and berry. All the rain-songs were in vain. Now and again gabbi-jean (the rain clouds) mercifully covered the sun for an hour or more, but before their promise could be fulfilled a barbed spear of wind would send them flying across the scattered65 hills of Wilba-thali, kicked up helter-skelter in the dreamtime by Wilba the Wallaby to confound and confuse his enemy. Raging winds scoured66 the plain, coming together with a dash in the visible combat of the whirlwinds, at which the women, in fear, threw handfuls of sand lest it should give them a baby. When they saw me whirled round and about in these opposing forces, with no evil results, “What big magic belongs to Kabbarbi!” they said in wonderment.
Summer temperatures soared to 114 and 120 degrees for weeks, even months, at a time, culminating occasionally in a shade record of 126 degrees. At ordinary times the average rain in a year was less than four inches. I have often watched heavy curtains of rain falling from a cloud high up, to evaporate somewhere in the hot dry dome67 above the plain, and many a heavy oncoming storm mill away in the wind like the steam of a railway engine.
Sand-storms raged for hours at a time, and the world was darkened. When the heaviest gusts68 threatened to rob me of house and home, I clung frantically69 to the ridge-pole of my tent, pitting my slender weight against the strength of the elements, and when they abated71 crept in exhausted72 to find my stretcher, my table and everything else within covered in nearly a foot of sand. I built my breakwind up to twelve feet high in order to protect my tent in these ruinous winds and sweeping73 sands, but it was of little avail.
To write the newspaper articles that meant the sustenance74 of so many under such conditions was at times impossible. My first typewriter became a ruin. The second baffled me in that my hands were so painfully burnt and blistered75 with the heat and dryness, the wear and tear of constant watercarting, and my years of attendance on the sick that at one time I essayed the art of typewriting in seven finger-stalls and failed dismally76.
Only once, when tying up poor Jajjala’s arms and legs for burial at about 2 a.m., having had to hurry to their call, did I forget my gloves. A needle had run into a finger-nail that day, and into this tiny crevice77 poison entered. For about six months I kept up a counter-irritant by putting my finger into boiling water, healing and again blistering78, and so saved finger and nail, so that today only the tiny needle-point route can be seen.
Many people, both in private and in the Press, have expressed amazement79 in that, in the heart of the Australian desert, I have always adhered rigidly80 to the incongruity81 of gloves. The explanation is simple. From the time of my first ministrations to the diseased-often repulsively82 diseased-natives of the north-west and the south-west of Australia, gloves have been my safety from contagion83. I have kept dozens and dozens of the cheapest always ready, and immediately on my return from the anointment of sores, the bathing of eyes, and septic wounds, and other dangers of infection, both gloves and hands have been steeped in boiling water. It was a drastic safeguard but a very necessary one.
In 1925 Ardana brought in his contingent84, all young men and all orphans86, their fathers having been killed and eaten before their initiations. Mirnaambula came with the men, women and children in his group, and others from east and west with boys for the manhood ceremonies. The transcontinental and its traffic clashed noticeably with these age-old rites88. The old men and brothers-inlaw sometimes arrived by train, wearing felt hats and calling themselves “dokkatur,” with the initiation87 knife, whittled89 from a glass bottle, a pointing-bone, some hair-string and various magics carried in a “doctor’s bag,” an old suit-case they had picked up along the line. Their fees, in the matter of food, were high, and for the most part provided by me. Occasionally a boy, if closely associated with the white people, was completely overlooked, and I have seen an uninitiated boy daring to take a woman-a matter of instant death under the old law-actually daring to throw his spear into the camp, demanding that she should come to him, regardless of marriage restrictions, which no longer existed.
In the midst of Juginji’s blood-drinking period, when he was isolated91 from his group between my camp and the Soak, some excitement carried those responsible for the boy’s sustenance away to some other siding, all save his brother, Waueri. I accompanied Waueri to where the boy was hidden, and swung the big bull-roarer over the two, while Waueri tied a ligature about his arm, dripped the blood thereof into a wooden scoop92, and gave it to the boy to drink. I then produced a big damper and a billy-can of tea and gave them to the famishing initiate90. It was against the ceremonial law that the boy should have any other sustenance than human blood at this time, but there were none who dared to question Kabbarli.
I kept religiously to their prejudices and tabus, and was as mindful of their tribal93 restrictions as they were themselves. By attending their totemic and initiatory94 ceremonies I tried to keep alive in them the will to live.
The totem ceremonies had also degenerated95. One early morning I was called out by the usual native sign — a sort of insect buzz. On the hill-top three natives were sitting beside the huge effigy96 of a snake and its eggs, the snake fastened to a straight pole, about ten or more feet between its curves. It was made with grass and covered with dirty rag in lieu of the human hair which is its proper decoration, with ochre, pipe-clay and birds’ down, its eggs, two concentric circles, ochred and outlined with white down. The men scooped97 out a long narrow hole in the sand and we all stood round as two of them reverently98 lifted the snake and set it standing99 on the hill-top. Behind us the deserts of emptiness, and a mile south civilization and the railway. The female of the jeedarra was then produced, the woman emblem100 an ancient motor tyre, also on a pole, ochred, with its circles covered with down. I was asked to take charge of these sacred totems, and keep them from the women and children.
My funds were low indeed through these years of drought, and there is many a famine noted101 in my diaries, and few are the records of our feasts.
My success throughout all my camps in tending them in sickness was that I never attempted to alter their natural habits and environment. White medicines are not in harmony with the native constitution, and the white man’s hospital only aggravates102 their sickness. Whenever a native feels ache or pain in any part of his body, he lights a tiny fire and keeps the affected103 part close to it. This course I followed, keeping them in their own little bush shelters under the branches they loved, with their own people about them. For diarrhoea I gave them the edible gum from the jamwood tree, and for constipation a cooked iguana104 liver and as much of the reptile as they cared to eat, and a few bardie grubs, with other homely105 remedies for various complaints, and no patent medicines. Their own methods were crude. A tightened106 head-band allegedly alleviates107 headache, and a magic string would be expected to cure most other complaints. To amputate a limb they made a small bright fire and, placing the broken and probably gangrening wound on top, they burned off the leg or the arm, cauterizing108 the ragged109 bones still attaching to the upper limbs.’
I had subsisted110 for a month on porridge . . . warm in the morning and made into a damper-cake for my supper-when two unexpected cheques endowed me with sudden wealth. One was for the amount of ￡7 10s from an American university for a detailed111 survey of the “Sex Life of the Australian Aborigine.” The other, from the University of Adelaide for a series of anthropological112 notes compiled, was a generous grant of ￡60. I immediately allotted ￡40 of this to the replenishing of native food supplies, and devoted113 the other ￡20 to recuperating114 my own health with a series of nourishing, well-cooked meals purchased with the consent of the Commonwealth115 Minister of Railways from the dining-saloon of the passenger expresses passing four days weekly. I enjoyed those luncheons116 and dinners with the appetite of a healthy child. I had not realized how hungry I was! The water-carrying was no longer a bugbear, nor the drought a dragging nightmare. For the first time in years Kabbarli herself was jooni boolga. The old joy of life and delight in service came back to me. I could wake to face the day with a sense of well-being117 and a full heart.
The drought dragged on and on, until in 1929 the dry earth was tinder in the heat. Food was always scarce. The fruits and berries had shrivelled, the succulent mawgu grubs were no longer to be found in the withered118 mulga and mallee; mallee-hens and their nests had disappeared from the valleys, and the white man’s rabbits were rarely to be seen on the sand-hills they had infested119 in their millions.
The natives travelled miles upon miles in their hunger hunting for lizards120. It was Dhalberdiggin, the son of old Jianawillie, one of the skeletons of the desert whom I was at the time endeavouring to restore to some human semblance121 with all the nourishing foods at my disposal, who brought upon us the menace of the bush fire-evil genius of the Australian drought. He had chased a long-tailed iguana into a low dump of bushes at Inmarna Siding, twenty-one miles east of Ooldea, and had begged or stolen a box of little fire-sticks from a fettler, ran the firestick (match) along its “magic board” and set fire to the bushes. Dhalberdiggin got his iguana, all ready cooked, sat down to eat it, and lazily watched the flames spreading and running all round the compass with the playboy winds.
The temperature was 110 degrees at, Ooldea, and it was a few days before Christmas. We saw a great bank of smoke on the horizon, too low for the deceptive122 rain-clouds that always so dishearteningly passed us by. Next day came the sound of section cars moving rapidly up and down the line. Panic was afoot.
On Christmas Eve the fire was raging round us, a fury of smoke and flame on the nine hills and valleys of withered mulga that lay between the Soak and my Camp. The ganger came to warn me of its steady approach along the line, realizing that my little tent was in danger.
For myself I knew no trepidation123, and my personal possessions were few. It was for my precious manuscripts that I feared, the thousand notes and note-books that represented a lifetime’s ethnological work, accumulated through 35 years and thousands of miles of wandering.
On Christmas morning the camp was surrounded by a dense124 haze125 of smoke in heat so intense that I thought it was already too late. One spark meant ruin. It seemed that in a few hours my life’s work would be nothing but a little heap of ash.
Yalli-yalla, Mooja-moojana, Mooloor and others who were watching the onrush came to my assistance. The sand was our salvation126. In a frantic70 effort to save the manuscripts, we dug a pit six or seven feet deep and buried the boxes, covering them well. Then all hands set to work clearing every bush and tree on the sand-hills near until we had a fire-break of 50 yards and more. Luckily my years of gathering127 fuel in the neighbourhood of the camp had thinned the bush and made our frantic task a possibility. With perspiration128 streaming from our faces and the roaring and crackling of the fire-fiend coming steadily129 closer, in a fury of choking smoke and flying cinders130, the natives and I worked grimly against hope and against time.
The fire burned itself out only after it had climbed the hill directly north of my tent, within a very few yards, and just on the edge of the railway line to the south. We had a thanksgiving Christmas feast when danger was over. Dhalberdiggin ran away with his woman along the line, and dared not approach Kabbarli for many moons, although I had no intention of reproaching him.
A little while later the drought broke, after nearly eight years. On a day of scorching131 wind, 106 degrees in my tent, I looked out upon the amazing phenomenon of a great grey mountain range moving slowly towards me across the Plain, a cloud range hundreds of feet high with many clefts133 and crevices134, blue and glacial or dark and cavernous, with out-jutting ridges135 exactly like weather-worn granite136. The contours never changed, although within it a ground wind whirled and spiralled horizontally. The natives were terrified at this moving mountain.
Suddenly it was upon us. The mountain became a whirling mass of sand and wind and rain. I clung to the ridge-pole and shut my eyes in a tornado137 of blowing canvas and lashing138 branches and corrugated139 iron, while the thousand and one water-vessels beat about me in pandemonium140.
There followed many gusty141 showers, and after the parched years, a vision beautiful. Green returned to earth, and the world was filled with the sweet fresh scent142 of herbage. On my way from the Siding, I now gathered armfuls of flowers, the slight rare glories of that barren bash.
One day, in the heat of April, there appeared before my tent a naked woman and her crippled son. They had walked for a thousand miles, from Mingana Water, beyond the border of Western and South Australia, after having been abandoned in the desert by a mob of thirty wild cannibals. The woman’s husband was dead, and her name was Nabbari. She had a firestick, a wooden scoop for digging out animal burrows143, and her digging-stick, pointed at one end. Her boy, Marburning, carried a broken spear to help him in his lameness144, but Nabbari had carried him most of the way.
Following the tracks, as the mobs had turned hither and thither145 in their search of food and water, so Nabbari zigzagged146 with the boy, often forced to retrace147 her steps. Four seasons, each with its own special foods, had passed in her travels and never in all that time was her firestick allowed to go out; for it is forbidden to women to make fires.
Day after day small fires were lighted to cook snakes and rabbits and bandicoots, lizards and iguanas148, and every living thing that provided a mouthful. They killed many dingoes, and even their pet puppies, but the little boy clung lovingly to the last one. When meat supplies faded, they lived upon edible grubs and honey, ants, and beetles149, and wong-unu (a grass), the seeds of which Nabbari masticated150 before she cooked them when there was no water. In the arid151 areas she found moisture in the mallee-roots, and shook the heavy dew-drops into her weera from the small bushes and herbage so that she and her boy throve on the long journey.
Many times they came upon the scene of old fights, or the hidden places of the manhood ceremonies-of these they would make a wide detour-or an orphan85 water where, after she had drunk of it, Nabbari would set up her death-wail. But the live tracks of her relatives who had preceded her were always visible, and from them she gained courage to follow.
From the spinifex country the two travellers passed into the sand-hill country. Marburning was carried on Nabbari’s shoulders or across her back when his lameness became acute, and the dingo puppy hunted game, and was taught by Nabbari to share his kill. Soon they were in the wallaby country. Next they came upon the swamps, dried up but still affording some kinds of food, and here the tracks of her relations became fresher and more numerous.
At last they came to the jumble152 of hills in the hollow of which lies Yooldil-gabbi. From one of these Nabbari looked down upon Gondiri-the Plain, the home of the great man-eating snake-the transcontinental train. The little white dots on the edge of the railway-line that were the houses of the white settlers had no meaning for her, but knowing that she was near the camp of her own people, she made a little fire and made a “woman smoke” signal. Mindari and others at once went out in answer to the smoke, and as Mindari was the first to reach her, she became his woman. So that when Nabbari, naked, with bright red seeds fastened in the strands153 of her hair and hanging over her eyes like a fly-swish, came to my camp over the last hill, Mindari was not far away. With due regard for dramatic effect, he had sent Nabbari and Marburning to make their own acquaintance with Kabbarli the Grandmother. No questions were asked on this our first meeting. Food and clothing and a welcome were given: the big happy sigh that came from Nabbari was eloquent154 of the joy and relief at her long journey’s ending.
For the special observance of Christmas and Empire Day I always managed to save up and shepherd supplies, a more than usually generous provision of flour, tea, sugar and jam, with all the new clothing I could muster155. This year big fires were made, and there was an Empire Day procession of Kabbarli and the men, carrying bags of flour on their heads, women and children following, in new clothes, eager for the division of food, tobacco and sweets.
Special invitations were issued some three weeks previously156 so that some crude idea of what “The Day” meant to these aboriginal157 wards132 of the Empire might be grasped by them. It was not “Kijmij,” for Christmas feasting comes in the summer. Then what was “Em-bai-de”’? There were several among them who had acted in the native display for the Prince at Cook, and as during that short period there was “lashin’s and lavin’s” of food, and the young “King–King” by his gentle manner and bearing had made a lasting158 and vivid impression upon them, it was easy to connect His Royal Highness with Empire Day, and to bring its aboriginal meaning to them.
Empire Day was the King’s feast day. White people and black people belonged to the King. A long time ago, when the white men first came over the sea to his country the King said to them: “Look out for all the waddi, koong-ga and gijjara (men, women and children) and tell them the King’s law; they are not to kill the white men and the white men must not kill them.” And the King said: “Give food and clothing to all the black people when they are hungry, and old, and sick!” By and by the King’s people said: “We will have one Empire Day every winter-time, and on that day every man, woman and child must have bread and meat, as much as they can cat, so that they will always speak of that day as the King’s Day, and a day of happy feasting.” Our King sits down far away over the sea, but he tells all his Governments to look out for his black people on Empire Day, and so Kabbarli was going to do what her King wished, and everybody in camp was to come-not before sunrise-and make big fires, and Kabbarli would give them flour to make dampers and tea, and sugar as much as they all could eat and drink, because it was Empire Day, and the King would be glad to know that his black children had feasted.
During my sixteen years at Ooldea camp the procedure varied159 little. Long. before sunrise the camp was astir, I could hear the low murmur160 of voices in the still dawn air; and long before I had prepared and eaten my breakfast and tidied my tent, the procession could be seen filing along the hill-top to the little valley beside the tent, where the feast was to be held.
Each family made its own big fire for the damper-and tea-making, so that there were many fires, round each of which its own family group sat and waited. The young bachelors made a special little yard for themselves within which their fire was lighted and their billies tended by a young sister. The breakwind of bushes made their enclosure temporarily sacred from all except the children, who played unchecked round about all the fires.
Presently, to the cries of “Kabbarli na! Kabbarli na!” [Hurrah, Grandma] I went to see if all my guests were assembled.
Where’s Karrimu?”
“At the camp.”
“Call him, tell him to come and get Empire Day bread.”
Ensued a great shouting across the valley. Karrimu is a widower161, self-made. Before he arrived at my camp in 1921, he had clubbed his two women “for talking too much,” distributed their cooked bodies, and then travelled with his son, daughter and nephew along the track blazed by his relatives into civilization.
Yagguin, a young initiate, being in Coventry through an unlawful love-affair, was not called, a sign or two from the men giving me the facts of his crime and isolation162. Jajjala, another young bachelor, lay prostrate163 with the white man’s disease, contracted somewhere along the line. Separate food was taken to these two solitary164 folk.
The dampers were made on bags, no dish being considered large enough for the occasion. All had their billies and pannikins in readiness, and presently all filed over to the flour bags beside the tent, and stood round while Kabbarli asked them to repeat after her, “God Save the King,” which we all said three times. Then each representative of the families was given flour until they cried, “Alle jeega” (Enough). The billies were already boiling, and hither and thither Kabbarli moved with her tins of tea and sugar under each arm. How they love sugar! And how they beamed when it was helped in cupfuls, and not with a spoon as on ordinary days. All dampers were spread large and wide and thin over the ashes, so that they should be cooked more quickly. Gaiety and laughter and the play of children all about made the occasion a special one. There was abundance for all, and so there was no lingering thought among the women feasters that this or that portion must be reserved for brother, son, father or nephew. They ate, and ate in full content.
Forty pounds of meat, bought from the “sugar train,” was kept hidden from the men, and was cooked miri mawgoon (human meat) fashion. A deep hole had been dug in my open fire-place, and a big fire made therein. Cinders and ashes were partly raked out, and the meat was placed in the hollow oven, covered with the hot ashes and cinders, and left to cook for many hours. Little groups of two and three women, and the only two old men in camp, came along at frequent intervals165 and a huge portion of steak or well-covered meat-bone was cut off for them. This they devoured166 in quick secrecy167. The men and boys had been given bullocks’ and sheep’s heads, legs, “arms” and entrails by the kindly sugar-train butcher, and so I had no qualms168 of conscience in reserving my Empire Day meat gift for the women. Jam was bought for the children and was also hidden from brothers, sons and fathers. Only those who live and work for years in native camps can realize the daily struggle of the poor women for the barest subsistence. They come behind the dogs in the economy of camp life.
Empire Day was made an all-day feast for every guest. Breakfast continued till dinner-time, and dinner till supper, and there was even a surplus for next morning (unless it was eaten during the night). When the children were filled literary-we played an aboriginal adaption of “Here we go round the mulberry bush,” which I had arranged “Not without some little fevers of the brow,” as Mr. Sapsea remarked, being rather hampered169 by aboriginal linguistic170 deficiencies in translation.
“Ring-a-ring-a-roses” followed, and then two of their own games-a sort of “hide-and-seek,” and a drama of impersonation of women wailing171 for the newly dead. The guests sat enjoying that “satisfaction of fullness,” and then, in their usual family group order, they feted back over the hill towards their ngooras, calling out “Balya, Kabbarli” as they passed.
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1
kindliness
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| n.厚道，亲切，友好的行为 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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3
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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sanctuary
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| n.圣所，圣堂，寺庙；禁猎区，保护区 | |
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interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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6
dispensing
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| v.分配( dispense的现在分词 )；施与；配（药） | |
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7
nomad
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| n.游牧部落的人，流浪者，游牧民 | |
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8
malnutrition
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| n.营养不良 | |
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epidemics
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| n．流行病 | |
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epidemic
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| n.流行病；盛行；adj.流行性的，流传极广的 | |
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purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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lessened
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| 减少的，减弱的 | |
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rations
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| 定量( ration的名词复数 )； 配给量； 正常量； 合理的量 | |
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14
plentiful
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| adj.富裕的，丰富的 | |
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15
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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16
acrid
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| adj.辛辣的，尖刻的，刻薄的 | |
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17
edible
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| n.食品，食物；adj.可食用的 | |
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18
myriads
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| n.无数，极大数量( myriad的名词复数 ) | |
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19
lizard
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| n.蜥蜴，壁虎 | |
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20
reptilian
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| adj.（像）爬行动物的；（像）爬虫的；卑躬屈节的；卑鄙的n.两栖动物；卑劣的人 | |
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21
specimens
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| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
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22
conscientiously
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| adv.凭良心地；认真地，负责尽职地；老老实实 | |
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23
devouring
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| 吞没( devour的现在分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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24
marsupial
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| adj.有袋的，袋状的 | |
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25
mole
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| n.胎块；痣；克分子 | |
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26
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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27
unearthed
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| 出土的（考古） | |
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28
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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29
biliousness
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| [医] 胆汁质 | |
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30
legacy
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| n.遗产，遗赠；先人(或过去)留下的东西 | |
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31
slung
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| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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32
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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33
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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34
lawfully
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| adv.守法地，合法地；合理地 | |
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35
reptile
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| n.爬行动物；两栖动物 | |
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36
cleft
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| n.裂缝；adj.裂开的 | |
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37
confiscated
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| 没收，充公( confiscate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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38
blight
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| n.枯萎病；造成破坏的因素；vt.破坏，摧残 | |
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39
malady
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| n.病，疾病(通常做比喻) | |
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40
oculist
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| n.眼科医生 | |
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41
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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42
presaged
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| v.预示，预兆( presage的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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43
geologists
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| 地质学家，地质学者( geologist的名词复数 ) | |
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44
brackish
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| adj.混有盐的；咸的 | |
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45
seeped
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| v.（液体）渗( seep的过去式和过去分词 )；渗透；渗出；漏出 | |
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46
eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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47
procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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48
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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49
kerosene
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| n.(kerosine)煤油，火油 | |
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50
ruses
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| n.诡计，计策( ruse的名词复数 ) | |
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51
galled
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| v.使…擦痛( gall的过去式和过去分词 )；擦伤；烦扰；侮辱 | |
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52
emulated
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| v.与…竞争( emulate的过去式和过去分词 )；努力赶上；计算机程序等仿真；模仿 | |
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53
deluging
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| v.使淹没( deluge的现在分词 )；淹没；被洪水般涌来的事物所淹没；穷于应付 | |
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54
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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55
gulp
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| vt.吞咽，大口地吸（气）；vi.哽住；n.吞咽 | |
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56
restrictions
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| 约束( restriction的名词复数 )； 管制； 制约因素； 带限制性的条件（或规则） | |
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57
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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58
strenuous
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| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
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59
allotted
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| 分配，拨给，摊派( allot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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60
makers
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| n.制造者，制造商（maker的复数形式） | |
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61
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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62
parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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63
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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64
dwindled
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| v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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65
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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66
scoured
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| 走遍（某地）搜寻（人或物）( scour的过去式和过去分词 )； （用力）刷； 擦净； 擦亮 | |
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67
dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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68
gusts
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| 一阵强风( gust的名词复数 )； （怒、笑等的）爆发； （感情的）迸发； 发作 | |
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69
frantically
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| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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70
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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71
abated
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| 减少( abate的过去式和过去分词 )； 减去； 降价； 撤消（诉讼） | |
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72
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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73
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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74
sustenance
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| n.食物，粮食；生活资料；生计 | |
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75
blistered
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| adj.水疮状的，泡状的v.（使）起水泡( blister的过去式和过去分词 )；（使表皮等）涨破，爆裂 | |
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76
dismally
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| adv.阴暗地，沉闷地 | |
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77
crevice
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| n.(岩石、墙等)裂缝；缺口 | |
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78
blistering
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| adj.酷热的；猛烈的；使起疱的；可恶的v.起水疱；起气泡；使受暴晒n.[涂料] 起泡 | |
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79
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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80
rigidly
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| adv.刻板地，僵化地 | |
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81
incongruity
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| n.不协调，不一致 | |
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82
repulsively
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| adv.冷淡地 | |
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83
contagion
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| n.(通过接触的疾病)传染；蔓延 | |
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84
contingent
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| adj.视条件而定的；n.一组，代表团，分遣队 | |
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85
orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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86
orphans
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| 孤儿( orphan的名词复数 ) | |
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87
initiation
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| n.开始 | |
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88
rites
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| 仪式，典礼( rite的名词复数 ) | |
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89
whittled
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| v.切，削（木头），使逐渐变小( whittle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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90
initiate
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| vt.开始，创始，发动；启蒙，使入门；引入 | |
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91
isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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92
scoop
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| n.铲子，舀取，独家新闻；v.汲取，舀取，抢先登出 | |
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93
tribal
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| adj.部族的，种族的 | |
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94
initiatory
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| adj.开始的；创始的；入会的；入社的 | |
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95
degenerated
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| 衰退，堕落，退化( degenerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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96
effigy
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| n.肖像 | |
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97
scooped
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| v.抢先报道( scoop的过去式和过去分词 )；（敏捷地）抱起；抢先获得；用铲[勺]等挖（洞等） | |
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98
reverently
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| adv.虔诚地 | |
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99
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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100
emblem
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| n.象征，标志；徽章 | |
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101
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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102
aggravates
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| 使恶化( aggravate的第三人称单数 )； 使更严重； 激怒； 使恼火 | |
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103
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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104
iguana
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| n.美洲大蜥蜴，鬣鳞蜥 | |
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105
homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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106
tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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107
alleviates
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| 减轻，缓解，缓和( alleviate的名词复数 ) | |
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108
cauterizing
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| v.（用腐蚀性物质或烙铁）烧灼以消毒( cauterize的现在分词 ) | |
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109
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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110
subsisted
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| v.（靠很少的钱或食物）维持生活，生存下去( subsist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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111
detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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112
anthropological
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| adj.人类学的 | |
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113
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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114
recuperating
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| v.恢复（健康、体力等），复原( recuperate的现在分词 ) | |
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115
commonwealth
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| n.共和国，联邦，共同体 | |
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116
luncheons
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| n.午餐，午宴( luncheon的名词复数 ) | |
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well-being
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| n.安康，安乐，幸福 | |
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withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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119
infested
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| adj.为患的，大批滋生的（常与with搭配）v.害虫、野兽大批出没于( infest的过去式和过去分词 )；遍布于 | |
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lizards
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| n.蜥蜴( lizard的名词复数 ) | |
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121
semblance
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| n.外貌，外表 | |
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deceptive
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| adj.骗人的，造成假象的，靠不住的 | |
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trepidation
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| n.惊恐，惶恐 | |
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dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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cinders
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| n.煤渣( cinder的名词复数 )；炭渣；煤渣路；煤渣跑道 | |
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scorching
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| adj. 灼热的 | |
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wards
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| 区( ward的名词复数 )； 病房； 受监护的未成年者； 被人照顾或控制的状态 | |
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clefts
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| n.裂缝( cleft的名词复数 )；裂口；cleave的过去式和过去分词；进退维谷 | |
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crevices
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| n.（尤指岩石的）裂缝，缺口( crevice的名词复数 ) | |
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ridges
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| n.脊( ridge的名词复数 )；山脊；脊状突起；大气层的)高压脊 | |
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granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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tornado
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| n.飓风，龙卷风 | |
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138
lashing
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| n.鞭打；痛斥；大量；许多v.鞭打( lash的现在分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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corrugated
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| adj.波纹的；缩成皱纹的；波纹面的；波纹状的v.（使某物）起皱褶(corrugate的过去式和过去分词) | |
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pandemonium
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| n.喧嚣，大混乱 | |
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gusty
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| adj.起大风的 | |
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scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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burrows
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| n.地洞( burrow的名词复数 )v.挖掘（洞穴），挖洞( burrow的第三人称单数 )；翻寻 | |
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lameness
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| n. 跛, 瘸, 残废 | |
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thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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zigzagged
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| adj.呈之字形移动的v.弯弯曲曲地走路，曲折地前进( zigzag的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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retrace
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| v.折回；追溯，探源 | |
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iguanas
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| n. 美洲蜥蜴 名词iguana的复数形式 | |
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beetles
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| n.甲虫( beetle的名词复数 ) | |
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masticated
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| v.咀嚼( masticate的过去式和过去分词 )；粉碎，磨烂 | |
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arid
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| adj.干旱的；(土地)贫瘠的 | |
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jumble
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| vt.使混乱，混杂；n.混乱；杂乱的一堆 | |
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strands
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| n.（线、绳、金属线、毛发等的）股( strand的名词复数 )；缕；海洋、湖或河的)岸；（观点、计划、故事等的）部份v.使滞留，使搁浅( strand的第三人称单数 ) | |
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eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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muster
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| v.集合，收集，鼓起，激起；n.集合，检阅，集合人员，点名册 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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aboriginal
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| adj.（指动植物）土生的，原产地的，土著的 | |
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lasting
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| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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widower
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| n.鳏夫 | |
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isolation
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| n.隔离，孤立，分解，分离 | |
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prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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166
devoured
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| 吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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qualms
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| n.不安；内疚 | |
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hampered
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| 妨碍，束缚，限制( hamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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linguistic
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| adj.语言的，语言学的 | |
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wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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