The Explorers (38 page)

Having left these three men, we camped that night where there was no water; next morning Mr Kennedy and me went on with the four horses, two pack horses, and two saddle horses; one horse got bogged in a swamp. We tried to get him out all day, but could not; we left him there, and camped at another creek. The next day Mr Kennedy and I went on again, and passed up a ridge very scrubby, and had to turn back again, and went along gullies to get clear of the creek and scrub. Now it rained, and we camped; there were plenty of blacks here, but we did not see them, but plenty of fresh tracks, and camps and smoke.

Next morning we went on and camped at another creek, and on the following morning we continued going on, and camped in the evening close to a scrub; it rained in the night. Next day we went on in the scrub, but could not get through. I cut and cleared away, and it was near sundown before we got through the scrub—there we camped. It was heavy rain next morning, and we went on in the rain, then I changed horses and rode a black colt, to spell the other, and rode him all day, and in the afternoon we got on clear ground, and the horse fell down, me and all; the horse lay upon my right hip.

Here Mr Kennedy got off his horse and moved my horse from my thigh; we stopped there that night, and could not get the horse up; we looked to him in the morning and he was dead; we left him there; we had some horse meat left to eat and went on that day and crossed a little river and camped. The next day we went a good way; Mr Kennedy told me to go up a tree to see a sandy hill somewhere; I went up a tree, and saw a sandy hill a little way down from Port Albany. That day we camped near a swamp; it was a very rainy day.

The next morning we went on, and Mr Kennedy told me we should get round to Port Albany in a day; we travelled on all day till twelve o'clock (noon), and then we saw Port Albany; then he said, ‘There is Port Albany, Jackey—a ship is there—you see that island there,' pointing to Albany Island; this was when we were at the mouth of Escape River. We stopped there a little while; all the meat was gone; I tried to get some fish but could not; we went on in the afternoon half a mile along the riverside, and met a good lot of blacks, and we camped. The blacks all cried out ‘
powad, powad
,' and rubbed their bellies; and we thought they were friendly, and Mr Kennedy gave them fish hooks all round.

Everyone asked me if I had anything to give away, and I said, ‘No?' And Mr Kennedy said, ‘Give them your knife, Jackey.' This fellow on board was the man I gave the knife to, I am sure of it; I know him well; the black that was shot in the canoe was the most active in urging all the others on to spear Mr Kennedy; I gave the man on board my knife. We went on this day, and I looked behind, and they were getting up their spears, and ran all round the camp which we had left; I told Mr Kennedy that very likely those blackfellows would follow us, and he said, ‘No, Jackey, those blacks are very friendly.'

I said to him, ‘I know these blackfellows well; they too much speak.'

We went on some two or three miles and camped; I and Mr Kennedy watched them that night, taking it in turns every hour all night; by and by I saw the blackfellows; it was a moonlight night; and I walked up to Mr Kennedy, and said to him, ‘There is plenty of blackfellows now.'

This was in the middle of the night; Mr Kennedy told me to get my gun ready; the blacks did not know where we slept, as we did not make a fire; we both sat up all night; after this, daylight came, and I fetched the horses and saddled them; then we went on a good way up the river, and then we sat down a little while, and we saw three blackfellows coming along our track, and they saw us, and one fellow ran back as hard as he could run, and fetched up plenty more, like a flock of sheep almost; I told Mr Kennedy to put the saddles on the two horses and go on, and the blacks came up, and they followed us all the day; all along it was raining, and I now told him to leave the horses and come on without them, that the horses made too much track.

Mr Kennedy was too weak, and would not leave the horses. We went on this day till towards evening, raining hard, and the blacks followed us all the day, some behind, some planted before; in fact, blacks all around following us. Now we went on into a little bit of a scrub, and I told Mr Kennedy to look behind always; sometimes he would do so, and sometimes he would not look behind to look out for the blacks. Then a good many blackfellows came behind in the scrub, and threw plenty of spears, and hit Mr Kennedy in the back first. Mr Kennedy said to me, ‘Oh! Jackey, Jackey! shoot 'em, shoot 'em.'

Then I pulled out my gun and fired, and hit one fellow all over the face with buckshot; he tumbled down, and got up again and again and wheeled right round, and two blackfellows picked him up and carried him away. They went away then a little way, and came back again, throwing spears all around, more than they did before: very large spears. I pulled out the spear at once from Mr Kennedy's back, and cut out the jag with Mr Kennedy's knife; then Mr Kennedy got his gun and snapped, but the gun would not go off. The blacks sneaked all along by the trees, and speared Mr Kennedy again in the right leg, above the knee a little, and I got speared over the eye, and the blacks were now throwing their spears all ways, never giving over, and shortly again speared Mr Kennedy in the right side; there were large jags to the spears, and I cut them out and put them into my pocket. At the same time we got speared, the horses got speared too, and jumped and bucked all about, and got into the swamp.

I now told Mr Kennedy to sit down, while I looked after the saddle-bags, which I did; and when I came back again, I saw blacks along with Mr Kennedy; I then asked him if he saw the blacks with him, he was stupid with the spear wounds, and said, ‘No.' Then I asked, where was his watch? I saw the blacks taking away watch and hat as I was returning to Mr Kennedy; then I carried Mr Kennedy into the scrub. He said, ‘Don't carry me a good way,' then Mr Kennedy looked this way, very bad (Jackey rolling his eyes).

I said to him, ‘Don't look far away,' as I thought he would be frightened; I asked him often, ‘Are you well now?' and he said, ‘I don't care for the spear wound in my leg, Jackey, but for the other two spear wounds in my side and back,' and said, ‘I am bad inside, Jackey.'

I told him blackfellow always die when he got spear in there (the back); he said, ‘I am out of wind, Jackey.' I asked him, ‘Mr Kennedy, are you going to leave me?' and he said, ‘Yes, my boy, I am going to leave you.' He said, ‘I am very bad, Jackey; you take the books, Jackey, to the captain, but not the big ones—the governor will give anything for them.' I then tied up the papers. He then said, Jackey, give me paper and I will write.'

I gave him paper and pencil, and he tried to write, and then he fell back and died, and I caught him as he fell back and held him, and I then turned round myself and cried. I was crying a good while until I got well; that was about an hour, and then I buried him; I digged up the ground with a tomahawk, and covered him over with logs, then grass, and my shirt and trousers.

That night I left him near dark; I would go through the scrub, and the blacks threw spears at me, a good many, and I went back again into the scrub; then I went down the creek which runs into Escape River, and I walked along the water in the creek very easy, with my head only above water, to avoid the blacks, and get out of their way; in this way I went half a mile; then I got out of the creek, and got clear of them, and walked on all night nearly, and slept in the bush without a fire.

I went on next morning, and felt very bad, and I spelled for two days; I lived on nothing but salt water; next day I went on and camped one mile away from where I left, and ate one of the pandanus fruits; next morning I went on two miles, and sat down there, and I wanted to spell a little there, and go on; but when I tried to get up, I could not, but fell down again very tired and cramped, and I spelled here two days; then I went on again one mile, and got nothing to eat but one nonda; and I went on that day and camped, and on again next morning, about half a mile, and sat down where there was good water, and remained all day.

On the following morning, I went a good way, went round a great swamp and mangroves, and got a good way by sundown; the next morning I went and saw a very large track of blackfellows; I went clear of the track and of swamp or sandy ground; then I came to a very large river and a large lagoon; plenty of alligators in the lagoon, about ten miles from Port Albany. I now got into the ridges by sundown, and went up a tree and saw Albany Island; then next morning at four o'clock, I went on as hard as I could go all the way down, over fine clear ground, fine ironbark timber, and plenty of good grass; I went on round the point (this was towards Cape York, north of Albany Island) and went on and followed a creek down, and went on top of the hill, and saw Cape York; I knew it was Cape York, because the sand did not go on further.

I sat down then a good while; I said to myself, this is Port Albany, I believe inside somewhere; Mr Kennedy also told me that the ship was inside, close up to the mainland; I went on a little way, and saw the ship and boat; I met close up here two black gins and a good many piccaninnies; one said to me, ‘
Powad, powad
.' Then I asked her for eggs, she gave me turtle's eggs, and I gave her a burning glass; she pointed to the ship which I had seen before; I was very frightened of seeing the black men all along here, and when I was on the rock cooeeing, and murry murry glad when the boat came for me.

J
OHN
M
ACGILLIVRAY

Sir, I Am a Christian, 1848

Just eight years after Eliza Fraser's experience, Barbara Thomson was shipwrecked and adopted by the Aborigines of Muralag Island, Torres Strait. There she lived as a wife of Boroto until she was ‘rescued' four years later by the crew of the HMS
Rattlesnake
, commanded by Captain Owen Stanley. Speaking a mixture of English and the Kowrárega language she told of being well-treated by the Muralag men, if not the women. John MacGillivray, the naturalist on the
Rattlesnake
expedition, recorded her story of life beyond the frontier.

On the day after our arrival at Cape York the vessel from Sydney with our supplies anchored beside us and, besides provisions and stores, we had the additional pleasure of receiving five months' news from home.

On Oct. 16th, a startling incident occurred to break the monotony of our stay. In the afternoon some of our people on shore were surprised to see a young white woman come up to claim their protection from a party of natives from whom she had recently made her escape and who, she thought, would otherwise bring her back. Of course she received every attention, and was taken on board the ship by the first boat, when she told her story, which is briefly as follows.

Her name is Barbara Thomson: she was born at Aberdeen in Scotland and, along with her parents, emigrated to New South Wales. About four years and a half ago she left Moreton Bay with her husband in a small cutter (called the
America
), of which he was owner, for the purpose of picking up some of the oil from the wreck of a whaler, lost on the Bampton Shoal, to which place one of her late crew undertook to guide them; their ultimate intention was to go on to Port Essington. The man who acted as pilot was unable to find the wreck and, after much quarrelling on board in consequence, and the loss of two men by drowning, and of another who was left upon a small uninhabited island, they made their way up to Torres Strait, where, during a gale of wind, their vessel struck upon a reef on the eastern Prince of Wales Island.

The two remaining men were lost in attempting to swim on shore through the surf, but the woman was afterwards rescued by a party of natives on a turtling excursion, who when the gale subsided swam on board, and supported her on shore between two of their number. One of these blacks, Boroto by name, took possession of the woman as his share of the plunder; she was compelled to live with him, but was well treated by all the men, although many of the women, jealous of the attention shown her, for a long time evinced anything but kindness.

A curious circumstance secured for her the protection of one of the principal men of the tribe, a party from which had been the fortunate means of rescuing her and which she afterwards found to be the Kowrárega, chiefly inhabiting Múralug, or the western Prince of Wales Island. This person, named Piaquai, acting upon the belief (universal throughout Australia and the islands of Torres Strait so far as hitherto known) that white people are the ghosts of the Aborigines, fancied that in the stranger he recognised a long-lost daughter of the name of Gi(a)om, and at once admitted her to the relationship which he thought had formerly subsisted between them; she was immediately acknowledged by the whole tribe as one of themselves, thus ensuring an extensive connection in relatives of all denominations.

From the headquarters of the tribe, with which Gi'om thus became associated, being upon an island which all vessels passing through Torres Strait from the eastward must approach within two or three miles, she had the mortification of seeing from twenty to thirty or more ships go through every summer without anchoring in the neighbourhood, so as to afford the slightest opportunity of making her escape. Last year she heard of our two vessels (described as two war canoes, a big and a little one) being at Cape York—only twenty miles distant—from some of the tribe who had communicated with us and been well treated, but they would not take her over, and even watched her more narrowly than before. On our second and present visit, however, which the Cape York people immediately announced by smoke signals to their friends in Múralug, she was successful in persuading some of her more immediate friends to bring her across to the mainland within a short distance of where the vessels lay.