There was not much order in their journal, as both brothers simply jotted down events and descriptions independently of each other. For instance, Mat wrote on the fly-leaf of the largest volume:—
“This book we hope to carry with us into civilization; but if God wills that we both die here, it may be found some day amongst our black brethren, who look upon our books as a sort of white man’s spirit, and they promise always to take care of them. Tim and I are now as naked as when we landed from the wreck of the Young Austral, our clothes having rotted long ago; but our bodies are sun and weatherproof. Tim gets a touch of rheumatism now and again, but otherwise we are very well, though rather thin. We don’t know what ’tis to be tired; when we’re caught by darkness far from camp we just lie down where we are with our dog, and sleep as soundly as ever we did at home. We know two sorts of trees that always hold good drinking-water; Tim is going to describe them, he says, so we hope never to die of thirst. Food we can get as easily as the natives can.”
Mat then went on to describe the blacks in the same somewhat unconnected manner:—
“These natives amongst whom we are living are called the ‘Waigonda;’ they are not really black, but more the colour of an old penny. When a child is born ’tis a sort of dirty white; but the jins squeeze their milk over it, when about three days’ old, and rub charcoal into its skin. Many of the natives are treacherous and cunning: they have broad, flat noses, sunken, black eyes, and terrible great mouths.
“Sometimes twins are born, and we’ve known the father kill one of them to save the trouble of bringing up two.
“They are awful lazy, the men have—some of them leastways—eight or nine wives, who do most all the work for him, and often supply him with food for days together.
“I’ve known a man sell a wife for a new kangaroo net; or lend one for some article they want. They eat everything that creeps on the earth; snakes they are very fond of, particularly one that’s not poisonous, called “manoo.” Many of the fruits look like English ones, but they’re just about nasty, and mostly all stone. One fruit looks like a big orange, but it will just turn your throat inside out if you try to suck it, but the blacks pound and soak it, and then bake it, and it makes good flour. There’s a little fig the size of a cherry that’s really good.
“The blacks use the juice of different sorts of bark for making fish stupid, so that they float belly upwards and can be caught. Fish-hooks they cut out of fresh-water turtle shells. Sometimes they eat human flesh, but only a friend killed in battle or by accident, never their enemies. The bodies of these they cut into strips, dry, and divide the pieces amongst the tribe: then they think that the strength of the dead man is added to their own. They sometimes get killed by crocodiles and snakes. They have no remedy for snake-bites; if they get bitten by a poisonous one, they just lie down and die, and the whole tribe howls for hours. They cannot in any way write their language, but can send messages by notched sticks, which are understood. They can’t count above five; more than that they show by their fingers.
“They speak very thick in the throat, but the young women speak nice and soft. They measure time by wet and dry seasons, and by moons. They fear some sort of spirit, and don’t like to move about at night.
“There’s a great mountain near us; Tim and I have often hunted on it. The blacks tell us that their forefathers once saw a great flood, which drowned all the tribes, but that they got away in time and ran up this mountain, and built a big canoe and escaped. Tim and I judge from this that their forefather’s name was Noah, as mentioned in our Bible, which was saved. These natives cut their bodies into all sorts of queer patterns, and make the wounds heal with the lips open. They haven’t much hair on their faces, as a rule; I’ve only once or twice seen good whiskers or beards. They cut the hair on their heads when they are boys with tomahawks. Tim and I have long beards.