by Tim Flannery
At fifteen miles we reached the top of an unusually high sand ridge and halted to again question the natives. They pointed eagerly for Joanna Spring or other places, and also where other natives were, but on my suggesting the whereabouts of the dead white men they said nothing but walked on. It was most exasperating and Mr Ord, losing patience, cantered after them, and lifting Master Pallarri off his legs by a chignon (the style in which they dress the hair in these parts) shook him and brought them both back.
Pallarri angrily exclaimed wah at this treatment, and when I questioned him and spoke severely he laughed at me. Mr Ord then instructed Nicholson to administer a little moral suasion, whereupon Pallarri threw himself on the sand, partly dragging the wizard with him. Master Yallamerri, trembling and becoming afraid that his time had arrived, turned to me and eagerly snapping his fingers in a southerly direction exclaimed, ‘Purrunng whitefellow.’
Pallarri jumping up, they started off at a Chinaman’s trot, exclaiming, ‘Bah! bah!’ which I suppose means ‘Go quickly’. Whistling to Bejah we gave him a sign to wheel round, and driving the natives we followed them for three miles when it was getting late, so we decided to camp for the night. Our last course was north 145° east. After the natives were chained up and fed and made comfortable I explained that if they did not take us to the dead men they would get neither food, water, nor fire. They replied, ‘Mabu, mabu’ As I feed them and have so far not hurt them they say I am good, but they have a wholesome dread of Nicholson, the chain, and handcuffs, and look with suspicion upon Mr Ord.
Thursday 27 May—After we had packed and mounted this morning, the natives, when loosened, again attempted to plead their ignorance, but upon Nicholson dismounting they ran off on the same bearing, exclaiming, ‘Bah! Bah!’ At two miles on this course they halted on a high sand ridge and had a conversation together. Urging them on they then turned south-westerly for one and a half miles, when we came to a recently burnt patch of porcupine. Yallamerri then held his hand up, and moving his fingers about said, ‘Purrunng whitefellow.’ Urging them forward again they ran along with their ‘Bah! Bah!’
Immediately in front of us was a high point of sand ridge with a low saddle to the west. Being on my camel this morning I had a better view and, seeing a rope hanging from a small desert gum tree on the ridge, I drew Sub-Inspector Ord’s attention to it. The natives, now at the foot of the ridge, exclaimed in one awed breath, ‘ Wah! Wah!’ I could then see my cousin’s iron-grey beard, and we were at last at the scene of their terrible death, with its horrible surroundings:—
Where Nature is sombre and sear,
Midst Solitude’s silent embrace;
In reflection—pray pardon a tear
For the heroes who died in this place.
Dismounting, Mr Ord and myself went to my cousin, whilst Nicholson and Bejah went where they saw some remnants of the camp equipment and found the body of Mr G. L. Jones, which was partly covered with drift sand.
Where Charles Wells lay, half-clothed and dried like a mummy, we found nothing but a rug, a piece of rope hanging from a tree, and some old straps hanging to some burnt bushes, which held the brass eyelets of a fly that had either been rifled by the natives or burnt by a fire which had been within a few feet of his body. Where Mr Jones lay and near his head was a notebook with a piece of paper fastened outside it by an elastic band. It was addressed to his father and mother.
On suggesting to Sub-Inspector Ord that we should not open the note, he pointed out that in his official capacity it was imperative that he should see the contents. Besides, the note might give us something to act upon out here. Amongst a heap of remnants of their equipment we also found a satchel containing a box of medicines, a prayer book, leather pouch, Mr Jones’s compass and journal, which was kept from the time of their departure from Separation Well until they returned to that water.
He stated in his journal that they had gone WNW for five days, after separating from the main party, then travelling a short distance NE, and that both himself and Charles had felt the heat terribly and were both unwell. They then returned to the well, after an absence of nine days, rested at the water five days, and then started to follow our tracks northward. Afterwards one of their camels died, which obliged them to walk a great deal and they became very weak and exhausted by the intense heat. When writing he says that two days previously he attempted to follow their camels, which had strayed, but after walking half a mile felt too weak to go further and returned with difficulty.
Charles Wells, he then said, was very ill indeed. There was, at that time, but about two quarts of water remaining to them, and he did not think they could last long after that was finished.
The natives have rifled the spot of everything that would be of any service to them. They have by some means cut up and removed the whole of the iron from the riding saddle, and taken all the hoops from both pairs of water-kegs, firearms etc. Although we made a careful search we could not find any writing left by my cousin, nor his journal, plans, sextant, compass, artificial horizon or star charts etc. and, with the exception of the map I picked up at the well six miles south-west of this spot, we have not seen a sign of any of these articles amongst the different natives I have met with.
Looking at my cousin as he lay on the sand with features perfect and outstretched open hand, I recalled the time we last parted when I felt his hard, strong grip. I little thought then that this would be our next meeting! I remember we spent a lively evening, our last together, at Separation Well, when both he and Mr Jones were joking freely, hopeful and full of life. The lines of his favourite poet, Adam Lindsay Gordon, occur to me—
With the pistol clenched in his failing hand,
With the death mists spread o’er his fading eyes,
He saw the sun go down on the sand,
And he slept and never saw it rise.
God grant that whenever, soon or late,
Our course is run and our goal is reached,
We may meet our fate as steady and straight
As he whose bones on yon desert bleached.
This spot is six miles north-easterly from the well where we encountered natives in April last, with rifled goods in their possession, and my camel pad from that place to Joanna Spring passes within a quarter of a mile to the south-east of the scene.
Sub-Inspector Ord has taken charge of all articles found here, and the bodies are sewn up in sheets ready for removal to Derby.
Leaving this melancholy spot we followed my old pad en route for Joanna Spring, during the afternoon, travelling seven miles, and camped for the night. The natives are well fed, but still prisoners.
Friday 28 May—Travelling eight miles this morning, we returned to Joanna Spring, and camped to allow our horses to recruit.
Saturday 29 May—Myself, Mr Ord and two trackers, with Yallamerri as guide, started in a south-easterly direction to try and find Bundir Water, of which natives had previously informed me. Yallamerri explains that that water is at present dead—’Bundir purrunng napa’. But we could not make him understand that we merely wanted to see the place. After going eight miles, the whole distance having recently been burnt, he told us the waters round about were all dead and not springs—‘Waddji tcharramarra’—that the only spring water was far away east-south-east, and it would take three sleeps to reach the spots.
Returning to Joanna Spring we questioned the natives, and they said there was another spring to the westward, but not in their country. They also knew nothing of a water called Lambeena which, in my opinion, must therefore be a considerable distance from here. Travelled sixteen miles per day.
Sunday 30 May—Started on return journey, travelling twenty miles along our old camel pad. The natives we have taken as far as this for our own safety. They both fairly broke down this morning, when they found the direction we were taking them. And crying ‘Sunndai’ they pretended great lameness. However, forcing them along for fourteen miles, they then forgot their ailments, and Yallamerri caught six bandi
coots amongst the clumps of porcupine grass.
Monday 31 May—Presenting the natives with knives, handkerchiefs, some food and water, we liberated them, telling them they could go back again to Djillill. They stood on the first sand ridge and watched us out of sight.
LOUIS DE ROUGEMONT
Illywhacker, 1899
The wonderfully named Henri Louis Grin, alias Louis de Rougemont, provides the only fictitious account of exploration included in this anthology and earns his place because he is such an outrageous liar. The Swiss-born Grin arrived in Western Australia in 1875 as a butler but ultimately surfaced in Sydney where he sold real estate. After a stint in New Zealand as a spiritualist he returned to England in 1898 and published his imaginary adventures under the name Louis de Rougemont. Below, he tells of being besieged, along with his Aboriginal wife Yamba, by an extraordinary plague of rats.
One day as we were marching steadily along, Yamba startled me by calling out excitedly, ‘Up a tree—quick! Up a tree!’ And so saying she scampered up the nearest tree herself. Now, by this time I had become so accustomed to acting upon her advice unquestioningly that without waiting to hear any more I made a dash for the nearest likely tree and climbed into it as fast as I could. Had she called out to me, ‘Leap into the river,’ I should have done so without asking a question.
When I was safely in the branches, however, I called out to her (her tree was only a few yards away), ‘What is the matter?’
She did not reply, but pointed to a vast stretch of undulating country over which we had just come; it was fairly well wooded. It lingers in my mind as a region in which one was able to see a fairly long way in every direction—a very unusual feature in the land of ‘Never Never.’
I looked, but at first could see nothing. Presently, however, it seemed to me that the whole country in the far distance was covered with a black mantle, which appeared to be made up of living creatures.
Steadily and rapidly this great mysterious wave swept along towards us and, seeing that I was both puzzled and alarmed, Yamba gave me to understand that we should presently be surrounded by myriads of rats, stretching away in every direction like a living sea. The phenomenon was evidently known to Yamba and she went on to explain that these creatures were migrating from the lowlands to the mountains, knowing by instinct that the season of the great floods was at hand. That weird and extraordinary sight will live in my memory for ever. I question whether a spectacle so fantastic and awe-inspiring was ever dealt with, even in the pages of quasi-scientific fiction.
It was impossible for me to observe in what order the rats were advancing, on account of the great stretch of country which they covered. Soon, however, their shrill squeals were distinctly heard, and a few minutes later the edge of that strange tide struck our tree and swept past us with a force impossible to realise. No living thing was spared. Snakes, lizards—ay, even the biggest kangaroos—succumbed after an ineffectual struggle. The rats actually ate those of their fellows who seemed to hesitate or stumble. The curious thing was that the great army never seemed to stand still. It appeared to me that each rat simply took a bite at whatever prey came his way, and then passed on with the rest.
I am unable to say how long the rats were in passing—it might have been an hour. Yamba told me that there would have been no help for us had we been overtaken on foot by these migratory rodents. It is my opinion that no creature in nature, from the elephant downwards, could have lived in that sea of rats. I could not see the ground between them, so closely were they packed. The only creatures that escaped them were birds.
The incessant squealing and the patter of their little feet made an extraordinary sound, comparable only to the sighing of the wind or the beat of a great rainstorm. I ought to mention, though, that I was unable accurately to determine the sound made by the advancing rats owing to my partial deafness, which you will remember was caused by the great wave which dashed me on to the deck of the Veielland, just before landing on the sand-spit in the Sea of Timor. I often found this deafness a very serious drawback, especially when hunting. I was sometimes at a loss to hear the ‘cooee’ or call of my natives. Fortunate men! They did not even understand what deafness meant.
Lunacy also was unknown among them, and such a thing as suicide no native can possibly grasp or understand. In all my wanderings I only met one idiot or demented person. He had been struck by a falling tree, and was worshipped as a demigod!
When the rats had passed by, we watched them enter a large creek and swim across, after which they disappeared in the direction of some ranges which were not very far away. They never seemed to break their ranks; even when swimming, one beheld the same level brownish mass on the surface of the water. Yamba told me that this migration of rats was not at all uncommon, but that the creatures rarely moved about in such vast armies as the one that had just passed.
I also learned that isolated parties of migrating rats were responsible for the horrible deaths of many native children, who had, perhaps, been left behind in camp by their parents, who had gone in search of water.
HEDLEY HERBERT FINLAYSON
Oolacunta, 1931
In December 1931 Hedley Herbert Finlayson made an extraordinary discovery. A chemist with a passion for the mammals of his native South Australia, Finlayson had heard rumours that a kind of rat-kangaroo, known to the Aborigines as oolacunta, existed in the far north of the state. He undertook an 1100-kilometre trek from Adelaide to investigate. Upon arriving at Appamunna station, among the gibber plains and sand ridges, he found that the oolacunta was no other than the Desert rat kangaroo, a species described by John Gould in 1843 but never recorded again until Finlayson’s rediscovery. Remarkably, although Finlayson found the species to be common in northern South Australia and south-western Queensland between 1931 and 1935, this mysterious animal has never been heard of since.
We ‘pulled off’ finally on a little stony plain with scattered saltbush, and made our depot camp under some corkwoods. We were five miles from water, but the boys seemed so assured that the country was ‘right’, that we decided to endure the discomforts of a waterless camp for the benefit of being near the coveted Caloprymnus. But I had grave misgivings. All the five bettongs that are the nearest allies of the oolacunta, I have seen in the country of their choice, and anything less promising than this stony, shelterless plain in the blaze of midsummer would be difficult to imagine. But the blacks were right.
The plan of campaign had been anxiously debated all the way in from Appamunna. The great open sweep of the country is so immense that all methods of procedure partook somewhat of hunting for a needle in a haystack. Snaring and trapping were out of the question, shooting was too damaging to skeletons, and the most practicable method (while the horses lasted) seemed to be for the whole party to beat up the country mounted, and gallop anything which was put up.
At this juncture Butcher created a sensation by announcing that he could catch oolacuntas by hand. When questioned, he explained that many years ago when ‘big mob jump up alonga Barcoo’, the blacks used to locate the grass nests and then, determining the direction in which the opening lay, would, if the wind were right, sneak up behind and, silently slipping a coolamon or their hands over the top, bag the occupant! Some jealousy existed between Butcher and Jimmy, and Reese and I were inclined to attribute this account to a desire to shine. Moreover, there was a certain Alice-in-Wonderlandish touch about this method of capture by the ‘laying on of hands’. So much so that Reese, on reflection, was constrained to administer a grave rebuke to Butcher, suggesting indeed that he was a sanguinary liar. But in this we wronged him.
Seldom do the things one keenly desires come easily. But on our very first cast we got a prize. The six of us rode east in the early morning, and on a sandhill picked up fresh oolacunta tracks crossing to a flat on the far side. We followed them out till we lost them in the gibbers; then we opened out to a half-mile front and rode slowly south, each man scanning every lump and tussock for a possible nest.
We had ridden less than half an hour when there came a shrill excited ‘Yuchai’ from the horse-boy farthest out, and the chase was on. The pre-arranged plan was for each of us to take up the galloping in turn, the rat being headed whenever possible and turned in towards the rest of the party who remained in a group. When the first horse showed signs of losing heart, the next man took the first opportunity of replacing him, and so on.
Following the yell, Tommy came heading back down the line towards the sandhill, but it was only after much straining of eyes that the oolacunta could be distinguished—a mere speck, thirty or forty yards ahead. At that distance it seemed scarcely to touch the ground; it almost floated ahead in an eerie, effortless way that made the thundering horse behind seem, by comparison, like a coal hulk wallowing in a heavy sea.
They were great moments as it came nearer; moments filled with curiosity and excitement, but with a steady undercurrent of relief and satisfaction. It was here!
Caloprymnus bears a strong external resemblance to five or six other related species and from a distance there was little to distinguish that which was approaching from either of two other marsupials known to occur in adjoining tracts. But as it came down the flat towards me, a little pale ghost from the 1840s, all doubt fled. The thing was holding itself very differently from the bettongs. As I watched it through the shimmering heat haze, some sense of the incongruous brought back a vivid memory of a very different scene, two years before, when I had sought the nearest living relative of Caloprymnus, above the snowline on a Tasmanian range.