by Tim Flannery
5 p.m. The natives appear to have made off. We intend sleeping in the thicket close to camp, and keeping a strict watch, so as to be ready for them should they return to the attack this evening. At 7.30 my brother and Windich returned, and were surprised to hear of our adventure. They had been over fifty miles from camp ESE, and had passed over some good feeding country, but had not found a drop of water. They and their horses had been over thirty hours without water.
14th (Sunday)—The natives did not return to the attack last night. In looking round camp we found the traces of blood where one of the natives had been lying down. This must have been the foremost man, who was in the act of throwing his spear, and who urged the others on. Two therefore, at least, are wounded, and will have cause to remember the time they made their murderous attack upon us.
We worked all day putting up a stone hut, ten by nine feet, and seven feet high, thatched with boughs. We finished it; it will make us safe at night. Being a very fair hut, it will be a great source of defence. Barometer 28.09; thermometer 68° at 5 p.m. Hope to have rain, as without it we cannot proceed.
† Sir Frederick Weld was governor of Western Australia between 1869 and 1875.
ROBERT LOGAN JACK
Each Caught Hold of Her Breasts, 1879
Robert Jack was one of Australia’s most prolific field geologists. In 1879–80 he undertook geological exploration for the Queensland government in Cape York. On several occasions he encountered Aborigines who were unaccustomed to Europeans, and I’m afraid he showed them scant respect. One meeting was so remarkable, however, that I still puzzle over its significance. Aborigines showered many explorers with the milk of human kindness. Here Jack certainly gets the milk, but I don’t know about the kindness.
August 26—The horses had gone back a good way in the night, owing to the poorness of the grass, and it was about nine o’clock before we made a start. In ten miles (W 6° N) through desert country exactly like that of the previous day…We found some grass and water in a marshy bottom and camped for the night. There was a thunderstorm with heavy rain during the night.
August 27—Having dried our tents, we continued on the same course. In eight miles we came on two gins carrying a baby—mother, daughter and grandchild probably—the first natives we had seen near enough to speak to. The elder woman was hideous by nature and was rendered still more so by having her cheeks daubed with clay. The best that could be said of the younger was that she was less repulsive. She wore a fringe about four inches square, but her mother had no covering but mud. They were very much scared at first, but soon became very loquacious. Neither of our black boys understood a word of their language. We made known by signs our anxiety to find water, and the gins pointed to the west.
As the gins had more luggage than two could carry, they probably had companions who may have seen us and hidden themselves. We had the curiosity to overhaul their swags, but I was careful that the boys should take nothing. They had a well-made fishing net and line, about a score of long, thin bamboos for making fish-spears, and a net full of miscellanies, including two old jam-tins, some seashells (for drinking cups) and part of an old tent or fly. The European articles were probably spoils from the deserted Coen diggings. I was interested in seeing that the gins had distinctly the instinct of sexual modesty, as they kept getting behind trees and hiding behind one another during their parley with us. When we turned to leave, they followed us till we warned them that we did not desire their company. They seemed pleased at getting permission to retire, and I fancy they had in some way got it into their heads that they were bound to follow us as prisoners of war.
A low, table-topped hill of sandstone now appeared about a mile ahead of us, to W 26° N, and I made for it in order to have a look out for landmarks. We had scarcely started when Macdonald informed me that two of the horses were getting weak, while a third had fallen a long way behind, and was in a lather of perspiration and could hardly be pulled and pushed along by Grainer and Willie on foot. They had taken off his very light pack and put it on another horse. I was under the impression that the horses must have eaten some poisonous grass or herb. The superiority of such of the horses as have youth and breeding on their side comes out conspicuously in such a strait as we were now in. Not much could be expected from the best of them, however.
The country we had travelled over for three days was nothing but a wooded Sahara. The blacks had just burned what grass it usually bears. Once in ten miles or so we crossed a wet bottom with a little grass which had escaped the fire. But for these grassy patches the horses must have died of starvation.
It will be readily understood that I gazed from the hill with feelings of considerable anxiety for some change in the nature of the country. Westward (our proposed course) as far as the eye could reach, nothing but low, flat land was to be seen, and there was nothing to indicate an improvement in the character of the vegetation. With a heavy heart I admitted that to carry out my programme had become impossible, and made up my mind that the first thing to be done was to find water and camp, to save the failing horses; and the second, to strike the Normanby River or the Coen track and go back to the nearest point of the Palmer Road, spell the horses, and perhaps buy a few more to replace those that were unfit to travel.
Turning to the south-west (magnetic), in which direction I hoped to find the Normanby at its nearest point, we came in one mile to a waterhole in a sandy gully, with a little green picking for the horses.
August 28—…Half a mile above our camp there had been a native fishing station last wet season. The mouth of a gully (still retaining a few waterholes) had been stopped by a fence of stakes and twisted branches. The blacks must have got a good many large barramundi, judging from the heaps of large scales lying about. Six dome-shaped gunyahs, four feet high and six in diameter, were still standing. They were strongly built of flakes of tea-tree bark, secured with vines and tea-tree bark ropes to a framework of boughs. Every cranny was carefully stopped up with straw. The access was by a door fourteen inches square, stopped up with a wisp of straw. A heap of ashes lay inside each gunyah, opposite the door. I thought the buildings were designed for smoking fish, but the boys assured me that they were only for protection in the season when ‘bigfellow rain come up’. It is an undeniable fact that Queensland natives can live where white men would be suffocated.
The next day (August 29), Brusher and Willie having been sent out with a shotgun and rifle to get game and report if they saw the Coen track, were attacked by natives while eating their lunch, about five miles down the river. One spear (barbed with kangaroo bone) lighted at Willie’s feet, and a fishing-spear (a bamboo lance with four bloodwood prongs) broke in a tree above his head. The boys saw five natives in all, two of whom they shot dead—one of them while in the act of aiming a spear. The rest fled. Such, at least, was the boys’ story, and I failed to shake it in any essential point by a long cross-examination. They brought home two spears in support of the story. I regret the circumstance, as I hoped to accomplish my peaceful mission without bloodshed; but I could not blame the boys for doing what I should have done myself had I been attacked.
In view of possible retaliation we kept a watch all night. It was clear moonlight, and it would have been easy for the natives to track the boys to the camp and treat us to a camisade. I did not doubt our joint ability to defend ourselves, but what was to prevent the natives wreaking their revenge (as is their custom) on the horses feeding out of our sight? Brusher insisted that the blacks would not start in pursuit till they had eaten the last of their two friends. We were not disturbed, which gives a colour to this theory; but my mind was not so easy as Brusher’s. The boys, who do not usually watch with a good grace, were on the alert all night, even when ‘their watch was below’—a circumstance which, I think, corroborates their story to some extent…
September 1—…In two miles NNW, we passed a large lagoon on the left. Five gins were surprised here engaged in digging lily-roots on the edge of the lagoon. They ra
n away at first, one gin leaving her child behind, but they shortly approached and jabbered volubly. The women had straight hair. One of them had a child about three days old, and it was interesting to note that it was marked with the boiled-lobster tint common among white children of the same age. The women stood in line and pointed with their left hands along the track, reminding me of the witches in Macbeth. They were understood by the boys to mean that their men were in that direction, and that we should go another way to avoid a collision.
One gesture of the ‘weird sisters’ surprised and puzzled us all. All at once each caught hold of her breasts and squirted milk towards us in copious streams. Perhaps they meant that they were entitled to our consideration as women and mothers. The party we met before had distinctly a sense of modesty, but this party had absolutely none.
EMILY CAROLINE CREAGHE
The Little Explorer’s Diary, 1883
‘E. Carrie Creaghe. The Little Explorer’s Diary’. Thus did Emily Caroline Creaghe sign the title page of her extraordinary, unpublished diary of frontier adventure. Accompanying her husband Harry, Creaghe was the only female member of Ernest Favenc’s exploring expedition, which pushed deep into the Gulf country in 1882–83. Her account is of especial interest because of her perspective on Australia’s barbarous northern frontier—well illustrated when she enters a settler’s hut to see forty pairs of Aboriginal ears nailed to the walls. We drop in on her just as an expedition member dies of sunstroke, and later at first contact with some Aborigines.
18 January 1883—Found today that Mrs Favenc is not strong enough to go out to the exploring expedition so, much to our disgust, we have to give up all idea of going. She is going back to Sydney with Mr Favenc and I am going to Mr Shadforth’s station 220 miles inland with Harry. When Mr Favenc returns in March the two will go out with one man and get the work done in three months instead of four and a half as they would have done if we had gone…
20 January—Left Normanton at half past three p.m. for ‘Magowrah’, Mr Trimble’s station, a distance of sixteen miles. Arrived there at seven, about a dozen men camped all night and eight of us belonging to the party going inland. Mr Shadforth, Mr Murray, McNaught, Power, two men and ourselves. Being the only female except one in the kitchen I felt decidedly queer amongst such a number of men.
21 January—Left Magowrah, at nine a.m. passed the Bynoe River, Flinders River and had dinner at Armstrong Creek. The men left almost immediately after dinner for L Creek, a distance of thirty-two miles, called after Leichhardt the explorer whose initials are on a tree on the bank of the creek. I felt nearly done up when we got to Armstrong Creek, having come sixteen miles (and not yet being accustomed to long riding and poor food). Managed to get to the end of the second stage but was nearly knocked up. Got into camp at half past seven p.m. Rather hot, scarcely anything but bare plains all the way.
22 January—Made a start at half past six a.m. Arrived at camp a mile and a half this side of M Lagoon, twenty-two miles from L Creek, called after Morrel—Leichhardt’s companion—at about noon. We, Harry and I, did intend remaining in camp at L Creek all today as I am nearly ‘finished’ but there is every appearance of rain, so we must push on to cross the River Leichhardt before it is flooded. The hottest weather I have ever felt today; the flies are something dreadful. Mr McNaught and his man left the camp in the afternoon. Still the country is level and bare.
23 January—Left M Lagoon at half past five a.m. Passed Diary Creek and camped on Packsaddle Creek where the mosquitoes were something terrible…Diary Creek gets its name from an old diary being found there, and Packsaddle Creek from an old saddle being found there, both articles supposed to have belonged to Leichhardt’s party. Nicely timbered country.
24 January—Left Packsaddle at half past eight a.m., the horses having got away and the men were from half past five looking for them. Travelled all the morning, passed Margaret Lagoon and are now camped on the banks of the River Leichhardt. There is an old tumbled-down public house close to the river crossing. The country is again plains and not much timber. The heat is intense, no rain yet but every appearance of it. Yesterday we did about twenty miles and today eighteen. There are plenty of crocodiles in the rivers but I have not seen many. Mr Warner had a fearful headache when we got to camp and we hope he has not had a touch of the sun.
25 January—Left the Leichhardt camp at 7 a.m. and arrived at ‘The Rocky’ at half past ten, a distance of fourteen or fifteen miles. Warner (Mr Murray’s man) who had not been well last night got some terrible fits and has evidently had a sunstroke. He managed to drive the packhorses into camp but got ill immediately on arrival. Mr Watson and two men from his station twelve miles distant came up and he, being a friend of Harry’s, stopped all day and night with us. He gave us an account of his being speared by the blacks some little time ago. He was of great assistance in trying to hold Warner during his fits. We are afraid Warner won’t get over it, as he is still unconscious.
26 January—A plague of beetles last night. Warner is slightly better and has not had a return of the fits, but our going any further this morning is quite out of the question. We did not put up the tents last night for the first time as it looked so very unlike rain and it was too hot to sleep in it, so when a thunderstorm broke in the middle of the night, we all had to turn out and put them up as fast as we could and only just put the finishing touches when down it came. Mr Watson went off before we were up. It is fine and very hot today (evening). Warner is much worse this evening. He is quite unconscious and has been so since 10 a.m. It is most painful to hear his groans. A terrific thunderstorm this evening at eight, got a little wet.
27 January—Warner died at three this morning. He never became conscious but his groans were something terrible at night. Poor Mr Murray sat with him. A death in a camping party is an awful thing. Mr Murray went away at 7 a.m. to Augustus Downs and brought back Mr Watson and two men with pick and shovel to dig a grave. Harry and I spent a miserable day until half past three by ourselves in camp guarding the body from native dogs. They have just sewn up his body in his blanket in the midst of a heavy thunderstorm, while some of the others are digging the grave. The poor fellow was quite young, strong, tall and healthy three days ago. ‘In the midst of life we are in death.’ Mr Watson and men will camp all night with us, and we shall leave early tomorrow morning.
Mr Watson brought us some milk, bread, plain cake and a watermelon which were great treats; at least the milk was. I have got into that state from not eating that I could not manage even cake. Our food in camp consists of nasty dirty hairy dried salt beef, dark brown sugar (half dust) and hard dry damper. There are some tinned meats, but the jolting has made them uneatable. There is some jam, but who can eat it with hard dry damper and no butter.
28 January—They finished the grave at 2 a.m. and so poor Warner was buried in the dead of night. The horses were troublesome so we did not start till twenty to nine this morning. Only went seven miles as the heat became so intense it was dangerous to travel, and camped till five o’clock at the side of a waterhole. Travelled till half past eight and them camped at the Ridgepoll on Fiery Creek about nineteen miles from the Rocky. The food we are living upon is something horrible, and I have scarcely touched a thing since we left Normanton; just two or three mouthfuls at each meal, but make up for the want of food by drinking any amount of tea (without milk) which is detestable…
20 February—The rainy season seems to have set in properly. Mr Shadforth and Ernest came home…They brought a new black gin with them who can’t speak a word of English. The usual method here of bringing in a new wild gin is to put a rope around her neck and drag her along from horseback, the gin on foot.
21 February—The new gin whom they call Bella is chained up to a tree a few yards from the house, and is not to be loosed until they think she is tamed.
23 February—Still raining heavily. The new gin Bella made Topsy (an old one) jealous and the latter threw a firestick at her and said she would kill h
er. The stick flew past Mrs Shadforth’s face, so Madame Topsy got a thrashing.
24 February—Bella, the new gin, decamped in the night, whether it was because of Topsy’s threat to kill her, or discontent at this life we don’t know. They tracked her as far as the O’Shanassy but that river is a ‘banker’ so they could not afford to go after her any further. There is no mail expected for two months owing to the floods…
2 May—Mr Favenc and Mr Crawford took the horses back to the waterhole we were at yesterday to get a drink as they could not go on, as it was so probable we might be some time in finding more water. They left at half past six and returned at three and we packed up immediately after they had had a hurried lunch and left at four. Harry and I remained about the camp doing odd jobs all the morning. We are reduced to damper and honey as we have finished our cooked meat and have no water with which to boil the one piece that remains. We have some anchovy paste, but are afraid to eat it owing to its tendency to create thirst. We came on until about eight tonight, Mr Favenc carrying the lantern as on the previous night. We have not come upon water, but the horses can do without it for some hours tomorrow and we trust we shall come upon it soon.
I had a tiny scrap of water spared me this morning to rinse my hands and face, but I feel extremely ‘grubby’. We came over very rough country this afternoon, and at times we all had narrow escapes from being thrown off our horses, for the holes were so numerous and deep that it was only by holding on tightly and being on our guard that we managed to stay in our saddles when the horses stumbled into the holes.