Camp life brings many little accidents with it, but the Spartan principles which are cultivated lead to an almost complete ignorance of the existence of pain as might be brought about by small cuts or burns. Just for the sake of competitive amusement, the boys of the Kukata tribe take a live coal from the fire and lay it upon the naked skin of their forearm. A red-hot coal, about the size of a pea, is usually selected for the purpose and momentarily “cooled” or “blackened” by covering it with a handful of sand. The black coal is then placed upon the forearm at any suitable spot and touched with the red-hot point of a firestick. The coal on the arm immediately turns red again and in that condition is allowed to remain there until it falls to white ash. The first effect is naturally to raise a blister, but this is soon burnt through and the raw skin is exposed, upon which the coal gently fizzles. Whilst this is going on, the boy is seen to bite his lips together and to clinch the fist of the suffering arm, as if to suppress the pain. The lesion will, of course, leave a permanent scar. Some of the lads have many of such marks upon both arms, and they seem quite proud of them.
In the camps of any of the tribal groups throughout Australia, who are still enjoying an uncontaminated life, one might see captive birds and animals temporarily tethered or kept for the amusement of children. Such are usually brought home by the men returning from their hunting expeditions. A young wallaby, for instance, is let go on an open flat and all the children set after it. They are not allowed to hurl stones or sticks after the fleeing game, but must retake it alive by the use of their hands only. Although it is against the rules to harm a captured animal, it is a curious circumstance that a native, even if grown up, invariably forgets to feed it, although entertaining the idea of keeping it alive. Occasionally, however, it happens that a creature survives and looks after its own needs; in this case the animal or bird becomes a real pet and is not made the object of children’s coursing matches any more.
The King Sound natives catch the small ring-tailed opossums, which live in the mangroves, and hand them to their children. The Ponga-Ponga gins become very attached to these marsupial pets, which they carry about with them on their days’ outings planted in the locks of their hair. The opossums seem quite contented to abide there whilst their mistresses are on the march and hang on by means of their claws and tail ([Plate X], 2). Occasionally one might even see an affectionate gin suckling her pet at her breast.
On Sunday Island several cockatoos were kept by a fishing party in their camp not far from shore. The birds had their flight feathers pulled and were allowed to roam about the country in search of food. The cockatoos seemed to regard the huts as their home, to which they invariably returned; they had, moreover, picked up many phrases of the aboriginal tongue.
Although the native animals and birds of Australia have always been, and still are, the daily object of aboriginal chase, it is a remarkable fact that great friendships are made between the hunter and his would-be prey when the latter is in captivity. Indeed, the instinctive fear of an animal or bird is ever so much greater when a white man approaches than when a native does. I have seen cases where semi-wild cockatoos, magpies, and other birds have allowed themselves to be handled by natives without much concern, but the moment a European attempted to do likewise, the bird would become unmanageable, terrified, and vicious. Partly domesticated birds seem to have a predilection for perching themselves upon the legs of their native masters when the latter are sitting or lying on the ground. Talking of instinct reminds me of the occasions I took aborigines to the Zoological Gardens to see the favourite attraction, viz. the “monkey-wurlie.” Whilst European visitors were coming and going, the apes would appear unconcerned, phlegmatic, and blasé; but the moment the dark-skinned people arrived, the animals would instantly become electrified and bounce towards the iron bars, which they seized and shook frantically. The natives, on the other hand, would evince no fear, but endeavoured to edge as close as possible to the monkeys, although they had never seen one before. The monkeys, in appreciation of the coloured visitors’ benignity, would grin, wink their eyes, and make guttural noises.
At the time of my visit to the Forrest River Mission Station, a tethered monkey was kept on the premises. The natives regarded it as a real “little man,” and many of them, especially the children, were on excellent terms with it, but this could not be said of some of the old men. The monkey and the children were inseparable, and usually at play; but occasionally disputes arose which always ended in an open tussle, during which hands, teeth, and finger-nails were used. Although young humanity did not always fare best, the monkey would never take a mean advantage nor resort to extreme tactics. When it found itself victorious, it would jump triumphantly on to its perch and cry “Arre Arre.”
CHAPTER XII
THE DAY’S MARCH
Orders of the day—Selection of camp site—Feminine water carriers—Great variety of bark vessels—Skin water-bag—Bailers and drinking cups—Natural water supplies—Water-bearing trees—Modes of drinking.
“When another sun will come, and when he is still a piccaninny, Punya umberri (everybody) will walk to the big stone (hill), lying in the gum-trees, where Kuddoguddogu (a landmark) holds up the clouds of the Pindanol’s country. Narrawiddi and Wetninnya will carry my angamma (bark-wrap with small personal belongings), and all other women will take many naramarragam (bark food-carriers) and fill them with yams on the way. Plenty water sits upon the ground. The men will run the kangaroo’s track with me.”