The heat was intense; the ground was gray, the grass withered and scorched by the sun; everything had a wintry look. The appearance of Herbert Vale at this time therefore was not inviting. Large swarms of grasshoppers filled the air, greedily attacking the few green shoots to be found at the bottom of the dry grass. They produced a peculiar buzzing sound when in dense swarms they flew up from the ground, and as I stood among them I could not help thinking of a snowstorm. Black lads amused themselves by running round and frightening the grasshoppers. The women gathered large quantities of them in their baskets. In one place a number of natives sat round a fire eating them. First, the contents of the baskets are thrown into the fire in order to burn off the wings and legs, whereupon each grasshopper is roasted separately; they taste like nuts, but there is of course very little to eat on them.
I ordered my blacks to encamp near the station, and at once began to get ready for a new expedition, but as it was difficult to secure more men in a hurry, they became impatient and disappeared with the dog, and thus all my plans were frustrated for the present.
Finally, having secured the aid of a few men, I rode off as soon as possible to capture the fugitives, and after a couple of days succeeded in finding Ganindali and some other blacks out hunting, but they had already delivered the dog to its owner, Gongola. They came to me rejoicing, and told me that it had recently captured a large yarri. It had chased the animal up into a tree, and the natives had themselves killed it with clubs. I asked very eagerly where the animal was, but alas! the old women had already eaten it, they said. The poor comfort I received was that next time they would give the yarri to me.
From Gongola’s tribe I had frequently heard that there were many boongaries in a “land” very far away.
They pointed up Herbert river valley to some mountains in the far distance, and thither I now resolved to make my next expedition.
CHAPTER XV
Blacks on the track—A foreign tribe—Native baskets—Two black boys—Bringing up of the children—Pseudochirus lemuroides with its young—The effect of a shot—A native swell—Relationship among the blacks—Their old women.
It was more difficult than ever to secure men. The country we were to visit was situated so far away that the blacks I approached made all sorts of objections. They did not care to run the risk of being eaten. My friends also advised me most positively not to undertake the expedition. Both Willy and Jacky shook their heads, saying, Komórbŏry talgoro—that is, Much human flesh. The people there were all myall, they said, and would eat both us and our horses, but I comforted myself with the fact that I had in my company a man who belonged to a family tribe living near the boundary of the land we were to visit. Ganindali was also acquainted with one of the neighbouring tribes. Besides, I had with me a “civilised” black, on whom I could place considerable reliance.
On leaving Herbert Vale in the morning the old women took leave of us in a horrible manner, crying and groaning because their friends were going to a dangerous land; there is, however, an old saying that you must not take evil omens from old women.
We followed Herbert river in a north-western direction, and at noon rested on the river bank. Just as we were ready to continue our journey, we were overtaken by a violent thunderstorm. Before the rainy season begins thunder-showers are frequent, and come on very suddenly, sometimes attended by terrific winds. Flashes of lightning and peals of thunder came almost simultaneously. My men at once sought shelter under the trees, and they could not comprehend why I stood in the open field and got wet. Strange to say, the natives have no fear of thunder and lightning, which they say are very angry with the trees but do not kill the blacks. Though many trees are seen splintered by lightning, they do not understand that it is dangerous for them to seek shelter under them in a thunderstorm.