Women gossiped, compared babies, and talked about each other’s children. It was one of the only times they gathered in a group large enough and social enough that they could do this, and it wouldn’t be repeated until next year. Food and different plants were discussed, so every woman and girl would be able to identify these food sources should they find themselves in an unfamiliar area away from their home.
The gathering lasted four days. The men and boys competed to see who could throw a spear the farthest and the most accurately or who could fling a boomerang and make it return. The musicians of the tribe used their didgeridoos and rhythm sticks as the people built up to a corroberee, a party or celebration. Some of these instruments were older than the people using them, having been handed down from their elders, who imparted the magic and knowledge from within. Others were taught how to make these instruments, using ancient magic to pass on to the next generation these skills of creating the instruments and the magic of the music.
As the gathering broke up, Alinta’s family headed farther south, not north to their accustomed area as they had expected. The surprise among the family members was obvious, but they dared not question her father, Omeo, who set out determinedly in this direction. They had traveled this way before but not in many years. It was part of their tribe’s territory, but only certain families roamed this area. Alinta’s family was usually farther north and west. It gave them an opportunity to explore and refamiliarize themselves with the ancient paths in this area. Alinta vaguely remembered being here before in her short life, and her brother was even more interested as this would show him new hunting grounds and teach him other paths that he too might follow someday.
As they headed south and east, the land changed. The spinifex grew longer, and both Alinta and her mother delightedly gathered the longer fronds and spent their evenings making new and stronger gathering bags that would replace their old ones when they wore out. The landscape seemed greener and lusher, and appeared to have more offerings. Hunting seemed marginally easier than in their normal sparse areas too. The season had changed. Winter storms were bringing sudden and fierce rainstorms, which were washing away the buildup of oils, sweat, and dust on their skin, which felt odd. Their skin felt softer, smoother, and more vulnerable to the constant bugs that existed in their environment. If they spotted a storm quick enough and shelter was available, they would wait out the squall in the relative comfort of an overhang, looking curiously at the designs left by others, who had come before. Some were quite intricate, but others were faded and oblique. There must have been some way for them to draw so high, or, as her mother told a fascinated Alinta and her brother, older peoples must have been giants. They looked at the drawings they discovered on their travels with respect, awe, and trepidation, assigning them mysterious and mythical meanings they couldn’t comprehend. At times when they camped in these places, their fire cast eerie shadows on the high rocks, making it appear that spirits moved among them, and they could feel the difference in the air around them.
They went on this way for many weeks, cautiously exploring new lands, traveling well beyond anywhere they had traveled before and well beyond their tribal grounds. The game was becoming more prevalent. Nightly, they had fresh meat, an unheard-of occurrence for these scavengers. They had to leave some of it behind, some of it spoiled before they could eat it all, and still, Alinta’s father was able to find fresh meat for them to eat. The plants enabled them to gather fresh fruits and vegetables, and their regular meals made them feel slower and gluttonous. Alinta and her family all had more flesh on their bones than ever before with the bounty before them. They couldn’t gather it all. Their bags were constantly full and heavy, and with the hunting that both her brother and father did, the abundance seemed overwhelming. As they waited out the winter storms, Alinta and her mother would take the many seeds they had gathered on their trek and grind them into flour, making little balls that they could bake in the fire and creating delicious biscuit-like offerings to add to the abundance of food they were finding and consuming.
The rains continued for weeks as Alinta’s father searched for and found signs of other human habitation. Confronted by another group of wandering tribesmen he didn’t know, Omeo made himself known. Using signs and an occasional word, he kept their meeting from becoming contentious as the other travelers stared curiously at the intruders on their lands. They were permitted to continue their travels in this new land. The rainy season passed, and the hot, dry desert soaked up any moisture that had fallen, hiding it well in its sands.
One day, Alinta’s father clicked, low. It carried through the still, hot air of the desert, and they all froze, eyes darting about looking for the danger he had signaled as the family blended into the brush, hidden from sight. They had noticed for some time that dust was being kicked up by something traveling along. It didn’t act like a dust storm rolling along the landscape, rather it seemed like something was kicking up the dust. It took a while, but finally, Alinta was able to see what was coming and had caused her father to signal. An unlikely sight stretched before them. What looked like a greatly widened path rolling across the plains contained some sort of animal she had never seen before. She couldn’t figure out what they were, but they were huge compared to the largest kangaroo she had ever seen. The animal seemed to have four legs, a snout, longer hairs at points, and a tail made up of even longer hairs. Its back was long and on top of it sat what looked like a man but was unlike any man she had ever seen before. Compared to her father, these men were very pale and were wearing too many pelts in the hot spring sun, and they appeared to be one with the grotesque animal. Watching them, she noticed that some of the animals were on their own and did not have these grotesque animal-man combinations, and she was able to discern that they were several different beings. She watched in awe as they stopped and one of these aberrations got off the strange animal. He walked around the animal just as her father did, lifting its legs, one by one, to examine its feet. Her eyes darted about, wondering if her father wanted the family to run, attack, or hunt. She couldn’t hear with her heart hammering in her ears. She had never been this frightened before.
Another strange sight rolled out before them, many strange animals with what looked like men sitting on some sort of rolling thing with bundles piled on it. Then another similar contrivance appeared, and another, and then there were more than Alinta could count although the number matched the total fingers on both her hands. She didn’t understand their purpose and gazed at everything in awe. She could now make out that there were many pale men on these contraptions and several of the odd animals were pulling them. The animals were separate from the contraptions, not a part of them, and they were using the animals to pull them. How unusual to make an animal work for them! The smell was decidedly foreign as it wafted towards them on the small breeze. The odor was strange, strong, musky, and not in the least appealing. She could tell from the scent that the animals could be eaten, but the men also had a strange odor about them.
Her father finally made a noise, a clicking sound that drew the family closer, and he signaled that they should stay in sight of each other, something they rarely did as they traveled since spreading out allowed them to scavenge and hunt more. The family began to follow what was a caravan of wagons, although they didn’t know they were called that. When Alinta caught her mother’s glance she could see the same puzzlement in the older woman’s look. A bonus of following the noisy men and their animals was that the game was scared off their trail, and the Aborigines were far enough away that the smaller animals were driven towards them. Their gathering bags bulged with lizards, rodents, and snakes in addition to produce from this abundant land. There was so much choice of prey being driven towards them, they had a choice whether they would catch and kill or allow them to remain free.
When night came upon them, they made their camp far away from the white man’s camp, and after eating his share of their catch, her father indicated they should stay where they were
while he went off into the night. He studied the white man’s camp for a long time before making his decision.
He appeared suddenly in the light of the white man’s fire, causing several to grab their guns in consternation. He seemed unearthly at first, an apparition, startling some.
“What do you want?” someone finally asked him cautiously.
Omeo, Alinta’s father, turned his head as though to try and understand these foreign words. He had been very brave to seek out these white men. He desired their stones, and he had seen several examples of the material in use around their camp. His eyes took in everything: the two types of large animals that they used as beasts of burden tied off to one side, some animals with ropes tied around their long legs, and the men sitting around the large fire…much larger than it needed to be. He was frightened but wanted to trade for the wonders he had seen at the gathering, namely the stone axe that would not break and the stone that stayed sharp even if it was hit against a hard stump or broke a rib. This stone could be sharpened against other stones, so it was perfect for spear tips. It had been explained to him that only white men had this stone. That was why he had traveled into unfamiliar territory and risked running into strange tribes in order to seek out the white man. He had been aware of the dust in the air for several days, hoping it will lead him to find these men.
He had looked warily about their camp before approaching, only the horses aware of his presence as he blended in with the dark of the night. Several horses blew out their noses as they scented the nearly feral man. The oxen placidly chewed their cuds, occasionally flicking their long tails at the incessant bugs that plagued them all. Omeo had nearly run back into the night several times before making his presence known to the men. He was still ready to run if they displayed any aggression. He held his spear ready but in a fashion that might not be construed as threatening. He glanced at one of the men, who was dark enough and had features like their people, but Omeo wasn’t certain he was one of them. Omeo made a gesture with his free hand, but no one saw it because of their reliance on verbal language.
It seemed it would be impossible to make his wishes known. He wished to trade for their stones, but they couldn’t understand him. He tried again, and still, no one saw the gesture. He heard them speak, and the qualifying note at the end signified it was a question. He couldn’t understand this language so unlike his own and the few languages he knew of other tribes. It was too melodic, had too much song in it from what he could tell. He couldn’t understand the meaning, and he cocked his head.
“What do you think he wants?” one of the men asked another.
“Probably food,” was the response as they watched the skinny Aborigine. From the way he was dressed—only a small pouch covering his genitals with a string leading around his bony hips to hold it up and nothing else—he looked like he hadn’t eaten in a while. If he were able to tell them he had eaten more in the past few days of his life than he had in the many weeks prior, they would be surprised.
Omeo had an idea. This was something that wouldn’t be necessary in his own tribe where he knew everyone, but when meeting others, establishing your tribe and your private name was necessary. Pointing to himself, he named his tribe, but it seemed lost to the white mans’ ears. They weren’t familiar with the over seven hundred aboriginal languages currently on this great island. When his announcement elicited no response, he tried again, this time speaking slowly.
“What do you think he’s sayin’?” one of the men asked, watching the Aborigine carefully. Most of their previous experiences with Aborigines were distant sightings on a hillside as they ran from them. The few they interacted with on the various stations had been reasonably domesticated, but this one was obviously wild, and they all wondered what he wanted.
“Let’s offer him some food and see if that satisfies ‘im,” someone stated, and the cook got up from where he was sitting. This sudden movement nearly startled Omeo into running, but he firmly stood his ground, watching the many men warily.
“I say just kill ‘em all,” another man contributed belligerently. His tone was heard by all, and Omeo understood the underlying threat, even if he didn’t understand the words. He glanced at the man warily, wondering at his anger.
“He ain’t done nothin’ yet,” someone else contributed but held his musket primed and ready, just in case. He glanced around. “Think ‘e’s alone?”
“They don’t travel in large groups, just families,” someone contributed knowledgeably. They were all a little unnerved.
The cook approached Omeo with a plate of food and a spoon, gesturing towards it as he held it out.
Omeo stared at him curiously, wondering at the man. What he offered did not look like food to Omeo. He could smell the fatty mutton, which was too rich for him to eat, but he watched the man warily in case it was a trap. He saw the spoon and the plate, and his heart leapt into his throat. This was the white man’s stone he sought! He gingerly took the offering with his free hand, still watching for any sign of a trap. Once the plate was in his hand, he stared at the contents uncomprehendingly. The food did not look appealing to him in the least, but the metal of the spoon and plate did. He leaned his spear against his shoulder to free up his other hand, keeping it close enough that he could put it into action quickly if he needed it, and he began to examine the coveted metal.
“He ain’t eatin’,” someone commented.
“I don’t think he came to us for food,” another put in, watching avidly at the strange man and his actions.
The spoon was the easiest to handle, and he picked it up and turned it over. He knew he could file it to a point, which he would need for a spear, but it was much smaller than he wanted. Maybe the other thing would work, he thought, turning the plate over and allowing the food to drop off as he examined the other side.
“Hey!” the cook, who had backed up to give the wild man some room, protested loudly at his good food being wasted on the ground.
“He ain’t here for food,” one of the original speakers put in before the cook’s anger could escalate. “I think he wants the metal plate. You know, he don’ look like the Aborigines nearer Sydney; he ain’t tame like ‘em.”
“We got some beads and stuff in the trade goods,” the cook put in, annoyed that his food wasn’t being appreciated.
“I think he would prefer a hand axe or metal for making spears,” another observed, all of them holding tightly to their firearms in case this was merely a distraction. Several looked uneasily into the night, away from the spectacle of the Aborigine examining the plate and spoon.
“How do you know?”
“He’s lookin’ at that plate and spoon pretty hard.”
“I don’t care what ‘e wants, let’s chase him off,” the belligerent man gestured with his musket uneasily.
“What do you think ‘e’s got in trade?”
“Ain’t got nothin’ on ‘im.” That was obvious since he was essentially naked and had only his spear in his possession.
They watched as the wild man examined the tin plate and spoon minutely, touching it reverently with his fingertips. It was obvious he coveted the fine metal. He finally looked up and gestured, the gesture lost on the more verbal men. Omar quietly grunted a word in his language, but that was ignored as well since they either didn’t understand it or didn’t hear it. Frustrated, he moved to leave, taking the plate and spoon with him.
“Hey!” the cook called, causing Omeo to stop in surprise. The man took a couple of strides and wrenched the plate and spoon from his hand forcefully. He stared at the white man for a moment, intending to take them back, but he was shoved away.
“He don’ understan’,” one of the men argued but already several men had risen and were gesturing with their muskets. Together, they chased Omeo off. He had looked like he might fight the cook for the metals in his hands. His fierce and wild looks, unnatural to the men, frightened them on a basic level.
“Get gone!”
“Shoo!”
/>
“Hiya!”
“Get along with you.”
“Maybe we should shoot him and be done with it.”
Omeo ended up running off into the night when the large white men frightened him. Maybe the metal they had shown him wasn’t a gift. Anything that valuable surely wouldn’t be given away, and now, he was confused. What could he do to obtain some of the white man’s metal? They hadn’t spoken in a way that he could understand. He had found their noises loud and unnecessary in the still night air. They made too much noise, like a baby, and he didn’t comprehend any of their words. He carefully made his way back to his family, thinking over his interactions with the white men and how to overcome them.
The carters were uneasy, doubling the guard after their encounter with the wild Aborigine. Who knew how many were out there in the night? Australian nights and the Outback were already mysterious enough, and they all were looking forward to getting back to the city with its lights and people. They built up the fire unreasonably high, wasting the sparse wood they had found.
The next day, the men saw that they hadn’t scared off the Aborigine completely. He was following them, occasionally paralleling their course on the winding road that ribboned across the Outback, connecting various stations and towns with civilization.
“He’s got a family with ‘im,” one of the men mentioned, spotting them moving along the nearby hills.
“You got good eyesight, Sam,” one of the other men grunted. “If ‘e’s got ‘is wife and family with ‘im, maybe we should hunt ‘em,” he smiled, showing uneven, brown teeth. Then he spit the tobacco from his mouth onto the side of the road.
“I’ll go along with that. Might provide us with some fun,” another man put in after hearing the conversation.
“We got to get these carts back to Sydney. We don’t have time to be wasting,” another man pointed out, trying to keep his men in line.
Outback Born Page 2