Pals: Young Australians in Sport and Adventure

by Carol Norton

  *CHAPTER XXIV*

  *THE CORROBBERIE*

  "Deep in the forest depths the tribe A mighty blazing fire have spread: Round this they spring with frantic yells, In hideous pigments all arrayed.

  * * * * *

  One barred with yellow ochre, one A skeleton in startling white, Then one who dances furiously Blood-red against the great fire's light.

  * * * * *

  Like some infernal scene it is-- The forest dark, the blazing fire, The ghostly birds, the dancing fiends, Whose savage chant swells ever higher." WILLIAM SHARP.

  "Jacky and Willy want to know if they can have some raddle,[#] whitning,and blue: can they, dad?"

  [#] Raddle: a red pigment used for marking sheep, etc.

  "They're very reasonable, I maun say. And what are they aifter noo, thescamps?"

  "Oh, I thought you knew, dad! There's going to be a grand corrobberieto-night. Old Tarpot has sent in a messenger for them to go out, andtake this stuff with them, and----"

  "Precious cool cheek on the pairt of Tarpot, and o' the boys as weel.Why couldna they come oure and ask me properly?"

  "Dunno, dad."

  "It's the blacks' way all over, dad," said Maggie.

  "Dad, dad," interrupted Jessie, who was eagerly waiting a chance to getin a word, "you said, the last time there was a corrobberie, when yourefused to let us go, that you would the next time. Now then, dado, youcan't refuse to let us this time. Say you will. Ah, I know by youreyes you will say yes! You dear thing, it's worth a kiss and a hug."

  When the ardent girl had bestowed these filial pledges she turned roundto Sandy and the others, out of whose sails she had taken the wind in amanner.

  "There now, young people, we are all going, for which I ought to bethanked. Only for my good memory, I'm afraid the dear man would havesaid no! wouldn't you, dadums? We'll make up a party, and Mr. Nevillewill, I am sure, be delighted at the exhibition."

  "My stars, Jess, but you're gettin' 'em bad! You will be applying for aschool teacher's billet next. Such consideration for Mr. Neville, too!Why----"

  "Oh, brither mine, bless your poor thick skull; it's positively no useyou trying to be funny--you simply can't. Oh, it'll be glorious fun,"continued she, turning to the Englishman.

  "But, Miss Jessie, please! In the first place, what is this corbobbery?Is that the way it is pronounced?"

  "No, sir, it is not; though to be sure they do kick up a tremendousbobbery."

  "Well, whatever the name, I suppose it stands for an aboriginalceremonial or pastime?" said Neville smilingly.

  "Exactly. Cor-rob-ber-ie is their Cafe Chautant, a free-and-easy; withthis difference, though--all their performers appear in full dress; gotup to kill by the aid of the tribe tonsorial artists and valets. Theyoung bucks are perfect pictures, I do assure you; and as for thegirls----"

  "Don't take any notice of the saucy kid, Mr. Neville," broke in Sandy,who felt that he owed his young sister one. "She's only jigging you.It's their native dance and song by the firelight; she's right there.The men do the dancing, and the women simply play the music."

  "Music! I had no idea that they were----"

  "Musicians. Oh well, not exactly that. They beat time for the men.They, the men, are all painted up and armed. It's a sort of actionsong, but it's jolly fine, a tiptop sight, especially when there's a bigmob of them. Sometimes four or five tribes get together for what theycall the 'great corrobberie.' Then you see something; for there'sgenerally ructions before they finish, particularly if there has beenany grog in the camp. In that case they usually wind up with a fight,and then there's the killed and wounded to count when the cleaning-up'sdone. It's all right to-night, though. There will be only two tribesin it, and they've always been friendly. Would you like to come?"

  "Come! I wouldn't miss it for the world. Yes, you may reckon on me forone--that is, of course, if your father is agreeable for us to go."

  "I suppose, dad," said Sandy, turning to his father, "we may all go?It's to be held at the old spot."

  "Oh, weel, I suppose you'd think me hard-herted if I said no? I'll jistmak' one condeetion, and that is, dinna interfere wi' the blacks. Youmaunna mak' ony attempt to boss them. Let them cairry oot things intheir ain way."

  "All serene, dad."

  "Can the boys have the whitnin' and other things from the store?"repeated Sandy.

  Consent is given, and the heart of Tarpot, the King of Bullaroi, is madeglad with a goodly parcel of pigments.

  That night after tea the party, including Denny Kineavy, mount theirsteeds and ride out to the corrobberie grounds, a matter of three miles.

  It was situated on a lightly timbered box-tree flat, where a clearedspace occurred forming a natural amphitheatre, wherein the aboriginaltribes foregathered periodically and disported themselves in theirnational characters and games at night time.

  The blacks make a distinction in these festivals. There is thecorrobberie and the cobborn (or great) corrobberie. It was one of theformer that the whites were to witness. The latter occurred only at longintervals, and was a time of feasting as well as amusement; bothfeasting and play being prolonged often for weeks, and generallyattended by all the tribes within a radius of hundreds of miles.

  Each tribe would bring its song and dance (corrobberie), in many casescomposed for the special occasion. This produced the exciting elementof competition. A corrobberie of exceptional excellence would belearned by the other tribes, and on their return to their own countrypassed on to the surrounding tribes. Thus it happened sometimes that acorrobberie of singular merit travelled round and through the continent.

  These folk-songs were associated with the dances, and treated onelemental themes, as war, the chase, the feast, love, birth, death.Often some humorous theme would be introduced, causing immense fun. Asa rule each tribe had clowns, whose grotesque attitude and voiceintonations were mirth-provoking to a degree. The Australian nativemanifests a keen appreciation of a joke and has an inborn tendency tolaughter.

  The preparations were far advanced by the time the station party arrivedat the camp. The gins, to whom fell all labour of a manual sort, werelighting the fires, while the bucks were busy "dressing" for theirparts.

  The girls remained in the clearing talking to some of the old gins,while the males proceeded to the outskirts of the forest, where the workof adorning went on apace.

  For this no pains were spared. The naked bodies of the dancers weretreated by the tribe experts, and some fearfully and wonderfullystartling effects were produced. Take His Majesty, Tarpot, as a sample.The ordinary court dress of the King consisted of a tattered policeuniform, together with a crescent-shaped brass plate that adorned hisbreast, where it hung, suspended by a chain from his neck. Theplate--presented to him on one occasion as a joke--bore upon it theinscription--

  TARPOT, KING OF BULLAROI

  But to-night Merri-dia-o is resplendent in a warrior's full rig. A holebored through the cartilage of his nose peak displays the bone of aneagle's wing, about four inches long, the insignia of his maturity anddignity--his knighthood's spurs, so to speak.

  Behold, then, athwart his nose, the polished bone, gleaming like ivoryagainst the ebony background! His grey hair is trussed up, forming abig top-knot, and is adorned with the sulphur-hued crest of the whitecockatoo, also with turkey-tail feathers. Wound several times round hissomewhat corpulent body is a belt of human hair. This serves to holdthe boomerang and other short weapons. A dingo-tail skin, split up themiddle to the brush, and bound round the forehead with the brush erectand plume-like, gives grace and height to the stature. But the body andlimb painting is the principal part. Each tribe has its devices.Pigments are largely used. The greater the number of colours the morefantastic is the effect.

  When the boys strode up to the
"dressing-room" where the tribe artistewere engaged, they found that most of the men had completed theiradornments and were strutting about casting admiring or envious glancesat one another. Merri-dia-o, however, was still in the hands of thedressers, and his markings were a triumph. Being a large-framed andportly fellow, he showed the designs to the best advantage. The colourscheme was brilliant, if nothing else. On his massive chest, which waswhitewashed for a background, were drawn an emu and a kangaroo. Thebird's plumage was bright blue, while the marsupial was as glaring asred ochre could make it. These cartoons covered breast and belly, thelimbs being like animated barber's poles in red and white. On his back,upon a white ground, was coiled an enormous carpet snake, with erecthead and protruding tongue. When seen in the corrobberie, armed withspears, shield, and boomerangs, this fantastic figure was without peeramong the warrior-clowns, the whole effect being an extravaganza at oncewhimsical and wild.

  By the time these preparations were ended the great central fire wasblazing furiously, fed as it constantly was from a dry tinder stack.

  The "orchestra," to the number of six, sat in a cluster behind the fireand beat time to the primitive measures. The musicians for the most partwere old women, who were well-practised performers. Their instrumentswere as primitive as the songs they accompanied, consisting generally ofa tightly folded opossum rug or a shield. These were operated upon bythe palms of the hands or by sticks; a vigorous slapping of the thighsalso gave variety to the combination. At any rate, a surprising din wasraised.

  It has been stated that two tribes participated. The Ding-donglas werethe guests of the Bullarois, who had provided a grand supper of fatgrubs, native yams, and roast kangaroo for the festivities.

  According to immemorial precedence the visiting tribe "took the flure"first, and gave a most interesting and picturesque display. The subjectof the corrobberie was an emu hunt, and was full of startling incident,presenting ludicrous aspects that created roars of laughter. Thedescriptive song was chanted in perfect time: a sort of runic lay,beginning in a low and monotonous key and gradually waxing louder as thechase progressed, finally ending crescendo in a cry of victory, whattime the animal is overcome and slain.

  The spectators, black and white, applauded most generously, our oldfriends Jacky and Willy being among the loudest. The station boys werein no ways different from their brothers in get up. For the moment theyhad abandoned the role of station hands for that of barbaricmagnificoes.

  The whites, especially the girls and Neville, who witnessed thespectacle for the first time, were delighted beyond measure. Thesilence following the huntsman's song was of short duration. Thestory-teller of the visiting tribe now advanced within the circle oflight, and in sing-song tones recited one of their folklore stories.

  THE COCKATOO'S NEST.[#]

  [#] Tom Petrie's Reminiscences.

  Once upon a time there lived happily together on an island three youngaborigines, a brother and two sisters. This land was not very far fromthe mainland, and the three often used to gaze across at the longstretch of land, and think of journeying forth from their island home tosee what it was like over there. They felt sure they would find lots ofthings to eat. So one day by means of a canoe they really did crossover, and began without loss of time to seek for 'possums, native bears,and so forth. In this search round about they at length espied a hollowlimb, which looked uncommonly like a place where a nest would be, andso, going into a scrub near by, they cut a vine for climbing up. Upwent the youth, while his sisters waited beneath. When he had cut openthe limb, he found to his great joy a cockatoo's nest with young birdsin it, and these latter he proceeded to throw down one by one to hissisters, the fall to the ground killing the poor things.

  Now it so chanced that as the young fellow picked up the last littlebird from the nest, a feather detached itself from its tail, andfloating away on the air, at length settled fair on the chest of an oldman asleep in a hut some distance away. This old man was really a ghostwho owned the place, and the feather disturbed his rest and woke him up.Divining at once what was happening, he arose, and getting hold of aspear and a tomahawk, sallied forth to the tree, where he arrived beforethe young fellow had started to climb down. Seeing the birds dead, theold man was very angry, and said, "What business you take my birds? Whotold you to come here?" He then commanded the tree to spread out andgrow taller and taller, so that the young fellow could not get down,and, taking the dead birds, he put them in a big round dilly, andcarried them to his hut.

  Although the old man did not wait, the tree did his bidding, becomingimmediately very wide and tall, and the young fellow tried his best tocome down, but could not. So at last he started to sing to the othertrees all around to come to him, which they did; and one falling rightacross where he stood, he was able to get to the ground that way.Somehow, though, in coming down he got hurt, and the gins had to make afire to get hot ashes in order to cover him up there. He lay covered upso for half an hour, at the end of which time he was all right again.

  Of course these three felt very indignant at the old man's behaviour,and they thirsted for revenge. So, calling all the birds of the air tothem, they sought their assistance. These birds went in front, whilethe three cut their way through the thick scrub to the old man's hut;and ever as they went, to drown the noise of the cutting, the birds sangloudly, the wonga pigeon making a tremendous row with his waugh! waugh!waugh! When they had got nearly to the hut, the old man, who had beentrying to make up for his disturbed sleep, heard the noise of the birds,and called crossly to them, "Here, what do you make such a noise for? Iwant to sleep!" But even as he spoke he was dozing, and presently wentright off, suspecting nothing; and when the three reached the doorway,looking in, they saw him quite soundly sleeping. So the three clutchedtheir weapons tightly,--the man his spear, and the women their yamsticks,--and advancing into the hut, they all viciously jobbed down atthe old man, and lo! he was dead. His body was dragged forth andburned, and after the hut was robbed of the young cockatoos and allobjects worthy of value it also was burned, and the three found theirway back to the canoe, and departed home to their island laden with thespoil.

  At the conclusion of the "yarn" the Bullarois retired to the treesfringing the clearing on the side directly opposite the audience. Aftera short harangue from Merri-dia-o, the braves, about twenty in number,fully armed and in their war-paint, issued from the forest, headed bytheir chief, shouting their battle-cry, gesticulating wildly, and makinga great clatter with their weapons. Advancing upon the foe, now in lineand now in sections, they battled with the enemy, crouching one momentbehind their shields to receive the shower of imaginary spears thrown bytheir assailants, the next springing erect and casting, as it were,their weapons of offence. Following up this round, they bore upon thevisionary foe and engaged in personal encounter. Retreating one momentand advancing the following, uttering war cries and fierce challenge,hurling coarse and stinging epithet, they gradually approached the fire;the gins meanwhile beat time, giving coherence and harmony to thebellicose proceedings.

  There was such reality in the battle-play, the men were so earnest,their cries so passionate, their taunts so bitter; in short, there wassuch a ring of sincerity, such a presentation of the actual, that thewhite spectators were carried away as in the drama when the mastermummers live their parts.

  The boys were in a condition of exultancy. They were inspired by themartial display to a participation of fellow-feeling with the warringcompany. Neville, too, was fairly captured by this weird yet fierce andsavage sham-fight. The thrill of combat held him so strongly that hecould not refrain from leaping to his feet and yelling with therest--urging them, indeed, to greater slaughter.

  It was different with the girls. Fear laid hold of them at the unwontedsight. At first they joined in the hurrahs, but when the fightersneared them, and it seemed, as was indeed the case, that the very actorswere being carried away by frenzy and battle-lust, their tongues ceasedand a c
old chill of apprehension seized them.

  The warriors are now right up, fronting the fire. In a few minutes thegrand finale will have been enacted, and the curtain rung down.Unfortunately, however, one of the young men has a quarrel with a youthbelonging to the visiting tribe. In the culminating point of this shamfight he sees his enemy among the crowd of onlookers, and, urged by hisexcited feelings, he directs insulting remarks full at this man, who,running out into the clear space in front of the fighters, returns thesewith interest. This so enrages the Bullaroi youth that, darting fromthe ranks, he slings his spear full at the enemy, and transfixes him inthe breast. Loud cries of consternation come from the women, and amoment's awful stillness from the men. Then, as if by magic, theDingdonglas have risen in their wrath, arms in hand. The play hasvanished, and downright fight and bloody battle ensues. Spears hurtleand boomerangs swish through the air; the crash of nulla-nulla onshields supplants the music of the orchestra, the while the gins flee insheer terror from the bloody scene to their huts in the forest, rendingthe air with their shrill screams as they speed.

  But what of the whites?

  They stand a few moments horrorstruck at the raging human cyclone. Atfirst the grim reality seemed unreal, just as previously the shambattle-action appeared real. Joe is the first to size up the situation.Not only are the blacks in blood-red earnest, but there is actual perilto the spectators. The combatants are surging to and fro in the strifeof conflict, and circling as though in a vortex. At any moment thespectators might be drawn into the battle zone through the movements ofthe belligerents.

  "Come, Mag, Jess, quickly!" cries that youth, seizing the girls as hespeaks and drawing them away. "The brutes are at it in real earnest.Come! we must bolt to the trees. Great Caesar, look at that!" A spearwhistled through the air and impaled itself in a tree near by.

  Just then, one of the fighters detached himself from the scrum and camebounding up to the little group, spear extended. As he seemed to be onhostile intent, the youths lined up in front of the girls, ready todefend them and grapple with the foe. On nearing, Sandy knew him to beWilly the station boy. Willy, loyal to the family, came to entreat themto leave the field. There was little fear of any direct attack uponthem, though it were hard to say what turn the savage mind might take.The apparent danger was from fugitive spears and boomerangs. So Willypaused but to cry out, "Take 'em girls to horses: safe there; no safehere. Go!" and then skipped back to his band, throwing himself heartand soul into the fray. For the hour the boy was as great a savage asany of the young men of the tribe.

  The girls, now really terrified, need no pressure to leave; so theyscurry from the field and reach their horses, some distance beyond spearreach. There they watch the tide of battle as it ebbs and flows untilit dies, which it is not long in doing, from its very violence.

  When the casualties were reckoned it was found that most of thecombatants had received bruises or gashes, limbs were broken, but theonly fatalities were those of the lads who began the quarrel. Now thatthe fight is over, both sides settle down to supper in the best ofhumours. The slate has been cleaned in this primitive fashion, and nowfriendships are renewed over handfuls of luscious tree-grubs and hunchesof roast kangaroo. To-morrow there will be weeping in common over thebiers of the departed braves.

  "Well, Denny, what do you think of this dreadful corrobberie?" exclaimedJessie to the Irish boy as they rode home about midnight.

  "Phwat div Oi think iv it, Miss Jassie? Whoi, it's been a lovelyfoight, shure. Och, they're the very divils ontoirely! Nivir seen sicha bit of divarsion since Oi left owld Oireland, bedad! Begorrah, it'dta-ake owld Tipperary itself to bate it."

  "Do you know what I've been thinking of, Denny?" continued themischievous girl.

  "Nawthin' but lovely thoughts, Miss Jassie."

  "You of course are the best judge, Denny, being an Irishman. What I wasthinking was this: scratch an aboriginal, and you have an Irishman."

  "Och, dear-a-dear, Miss Jassie, to maline me poor counthrymen loikethat! Troth, then," cried the lad, with a serio-comic air and thesuspicion of a wink, "there's one thing indade which Irishmen have incommon wid these poor naggurs."

  "What is that, Denny?"

  "We both suffer at the hands of Saxon landlords."

  And Jessie had no answer.