Perhaps the simplest huts that human beings ever dignified by the name of habitation are those which are made by the women of a tribe when the men are away. It sometimes happens that the whole of the adult males go off on an expedition which will last for a considerable time—such, for example, as a raid upon a neighboring tribe—leaving the women and children to take care of themselves. These, knowing that they might be pounced upon by enemies who would take advantage of the absence of their defenders, retire into the recesses of the woods, where they build the oddest houses imaginable, half burrows scraped among the roots of trees, and half huts made of bark and decayed wood. These habitations are so inconspicuous that even the practised eye of the native can scarcely discover them.
On the shores of Encounter Bay may be seen some very curious habitations. Every now and then a whale is thrown ashore by a tempest; and in such a case the tribes of the neighborhood flock round it with great rejoicings, seeing in it an unlimited supply of food. Huge as the animal may be, it is ere long consumed, and nothing left but the skeleton. Of the bones the natives make the framework of their huts, the ends of the ribs being fixed in the ground, so that the bones form the supports of the arched roof, which is nothing more than boughs, grass, and matting thrown almost at random upon the bony framework.
During the winter time the native huts are of better construction, although the best hut that an Australian ever made is but a very rude and primitive specimen of architecture. These winter huts are made on the same principle as those employed in summer, but the materials are more closely put together. The framework of these huts is made by sticking a number of saplings in the ground, and tying them together. Smaller branches and twigs are then passed in and out of the uprights, and pressed down to make a tolerably firm wall. Over the wall comes a layer of large leaves, and an outer covering of tea-tree bark is placed over the trees, and held in its place by a lashing of rattan. These houses are about five feet in height, and have an arched opening just large enough for a man to enter on his hands and knees.
Such huts as these, however, are but seldom seen, the ordinary winter dwellings being made of bushes, as seen in an [illustration] on the next page. Near the entrance, but not within it, the fire is kindled, and at night the natives crowd into the hut, filling it so completely that a view of the interior displays nothing but a confused mass of human limbs. The reader will perceive that the luxury of a door has not been contemplated by the native architects—an omission which is perhaps rather fortunate, considering the crowded state of the interior.
Along the shores of the Coorung a rather peculiar kind of habitation is used. It must first be mentioned that the Coorung is a back-water inlet of the sea, running parallel to it for some ninety miles or so, never more than a mile and a half from the sea, and divided from it only by a range of enormous sandhills. It is a wild and desolate place, but is inhabited by the Milmendura tribe, who made themselves so notorious for the massacre of the passengers and men of the ship Maria. The natives probably like the spot, because in the Coorung, which is protected from the ocean waves by the sandhills, they can take fish without danger, and because the sandhills furnish a fruit called the monterry, or native apple, as, although a berry growing upon a creeping plant, it looks and tastes like a miniature apple.
The situation is much exposed in the winter time to the cold south-west blasts, and the natives accordingly make comparatively strong huts. Their dwellings are formed of a framework of sticks, over which is plastered a thick layer of turf and mud. In addition to this they heap over the hut a great quantity of the sand and shells of which the ground is chiefly composed, so that the houses of the Milmendura look like mere mounds or hillocks rising from the sandy soil.
The fire which is found in every Australian encampment is generally procured by friction from two pieces of wood, one being twirled rapidly between the hands and the other held firmly by the feet. Indeed, the Australian savage produces fire exactly as does the South African (see page 100). This accomplishment, however, is not universal, some tribes being unable to produce fire, and being dependent on the “fire-sticks” which the women carry with them. It has occasionally happened that the women have been careless enough to allow all their fire-sticks to expire, and in such a case they are obliged to go to the nearest friendly tribe, and beg a light from them, in order to procure fire wherewith to cook the game that their husbands have brought home.
Before leaving this part of the subject, it will be as well to mention briefly a few of the devices used by the Australian natives in taking their game.
One of these devices is remarkably ingenious, and is principally employed in duck catching. The natives find out a spot where the ducks resort in order to feed, and arrange their nets so that they may intercept birds that fly down upon them. When the ducks are all busy feeding, the native hunter, who has concealed himself near the place, alarms the birds by suddenly imitating the cry of the fish-hawk, one of their deadliest foes. The terrified ducks rise in a body; but, just as they ascend, the wily native flings into the air a triangular piece of bark, imitating again the cry of the hawk. The birds, fancying that the hawk is sweeping down upon them, try to escape by darting into the reeds, and are caught in the nets.
Another ingenious plan is used for capturing birds singly. The native makes a sort of screen of branches, and conceals himself within it. In his hand he carries a long and slender rod, at the end of which there is a noose, and within the noose a bait. Under cover of the screen he comes close to the bird, and gently places the treacherous noose near it. By degrees the bird comes closer and closer to the bait, and, as soon as its head is fairly within the noose, it is secured by a dexterous twist of the hand. Sometimes the native does not employ a bait. He builds his simple shelter by some spot where birds are accustomed to drink, and calls them by imitating their note. They come to the spot, and, not seeing their companions, perch upon the sticks under which the hunter is concealed, a large bunch of grass being generally used to prevent the birds from seeing him. As soon as the bird perches, he slips the noose over its head, draws it inside the shelter, kills it, and waits for another.