The Adventures of Louis de Rougemont

by Louis de Rougemont

Once I came across a certain kind of spider, whose web was so strong and thick that it only broke under considerable pressure from the finger. The spider itself was fully two inches or three inches long, and had formidable claws. Inland fishing, too, I found extremely interesting. Of course, the inland blacks have a very different method of fishing from that adopted by the coast tribes. Often the inland people would build a fire on the banks of the lagoon, and throw something into the water to attract the fish to the surface. When the fish rose they would promptly be speared. Some of them weighed as much as ten pounds, and proved excellent eating. The blacks themselves never inquired how the fish came into these inland holes; it was enough for them to know they were there and were good eating. The usual fish-hooks were of bone; and although I experimented with hooks of gold and copper I found them practically useless, and, in the long run, reverted to articles of native manufacture. In a certain limestone country, which I struck in the course of my wanderings, I discovered some extraordinary caves with water-holes, in which blind fish existed. They certainly had indications of eyes, but these were hidden beneath a kind of permanent skin covering. In any case they would have had no use for eyes, because the water-holes were situated in the most profound darkness. In other caves I discovered quantities of extraordinary animal-bones, probably of prehistoric origin.

If I have omitted to mention Bruno in connection with every incident related in these pages, it must not be supposed that my faithful companion did not play an important part in my daily life.

He was always with me; but it must be remembered that he was now growing old, and the natives around me were by no means so keen to possess him as the tribes of Carpentaria had been in the days gone by.

All kinds of extraordinary incidents befell me whilst on the “walk-about.” Many a time have I been deceived by mirage. One most complete deception befell me one day whilst Yamba and I were tramping over a stretch of low, sandy country. Suddenly I fancied I descried the boundless ocean in the distance, and with my usual impetuosity rushed frantically forward in the firm belief that at last we had reached the coast. Yamba explained that it was only a mirage, but I would not stay to listen, and must have gone miles before I gave up in disgust and returned to my patient wife. This brings me to another and perhaps still more extraordinary illusion. One day whilst Yamba and I were passing through one of those eternal regions of sand-hills and spinifex which are the despair of the Australian explorer, I suddenly saw in the distance what I was certain was a flock of sheep. There they were apparently—scores of them, browsing calmly in a depression in a fertile patch where most probably water existed.

In an instant the old desire to return to civilisation, which I had thought buried long ago, reasserted itself, and I dashed forward at full speed yelling back to Yamba, “Sheep, sheep—where sheep are, men are. Civilisation at last!” When at length I had got near enough for the creatures to notice me, you may imagine my disgust and disappointment when quite a little forest of tall heads went high into the air, and a flock of emus raced off across the country at full speed. These huge birds had had their heads down feeding, and not unnaturally, in the distance, I had mistaken them for sheep.

I think every one is aware that prolonged droughts are of very common occurrence in Central Australia, and are mainly responsible for the migratory habits of the aborigines—particularly those of the remote deserts in the interior. The most terrible drought I myself experienced whilst in my mountain home was one that extended over three years, when even the lagoon in front of my dwelling, which I had thought practically inexhaustible, dried up, with the most appalling results. Just think—never a drop of rain falling for over three long years, with a scorching sun darting down its rays almost every day! During this terrible period the only moisture the parched earth received was in the form of the heavy dews that descended in the night. Even these, however, only benefited the vegetation where any continued to exist, and did not contribute in the slightest degree to the natural water supply so necessary for the sustenance of human and animal life. The results were terrible to witness. Kangaroos and snakes; emus and cockatoos; lizards and rats—all lay about either dead or dying; and in the case of animals who had survived, they seemed no longer to fear their natural enemy, man.

Day by day as I saw my lagoon grow gradually smaller, I felt that unless I took some steps to ensure a more permanent supply, my people must inevitably perish, and I with them. Naturally enough, they looked to me to do something for them, and provide some relief from the effects of the most terrible drought which even they had ever experienced. Almost daily discouraging reports were brought to me regarding the drying up of all the better-known water-holes all round the country, and I was at length obliged to invite all and sundry to use my own all but exhausted lagoon. At length things became so threatening that I decided to sink a well. Choosing a likely spot near the foot of a precipitous hill, I set to work with only Yamba as my assistant. Confidently anticipating the best results, I erected a crude kind of windlass, and fitted it with a green-hide rope and a bucket made by scooping out a section of a tree. My digging implements consisted solely of a home-made wooden spade and a stone pick. Yamba manipulated the windlass, lowering and raising the bucket and disposing of the gravel which I sent to the surface, with the dexterity of a practised navvy. What with the heat, the scarcity of water, and the fact that not one of the natives could be relied upon to do an hour’s work, it was a terribly slow and wearying business; but Yamba and I stuck to it doggedly day after day.

At the end of a week I had sunk a narrow shaft to a depth of twelve or fourteen feet, and then to my infinite satisfaction saw every indication that water was to be found a little lower down. In the course of the following week I hit upon a spring, and then I felt amply rewarded for all the trouble I had taken. Even when the lagoon was perfectly dry, and only its parched sandy bed to be seen, the supply from our little well continued undiminished; and it proved more than enough for our wants during the whole of the drought. I even ventured to provide the distressed birds and animals with some means of quenching their insupportable thirst. A few yards from the well I constructed a large wooden trough, which I kept filled with water; and each day it was visited by the most extraordinary flocks of birds of every size and variety of plumage—from emus down to what looked like humming-birds. Huge snakes, ten and fifteen feet long, bustled the kangaroos away from the life-giving trough; and occasionally the crowd would be so excessive that some of the poor creatures would have to wait hours before their thirst was satisfied,—and even die on the outer fringe of the waiting throng. I remember that even at the time the scene struck me as an amazing and unprecedented one, for there was I doing my best to regulate the traffic, so to speak, sending away the birds and animals and reptiles whose wants had been satisfied, and bringing skins full of water to those who had fallen down from exhaustion, and were in a fair way to die. As a rule, the creatures took no notice whatever of me, but seemed to realise in some instinctive way that I was their benefactor. Of course I had to cover over the top of the well itself, otherwise it would have been simply swamped with the carcasses of eager animals and birds.

But, it may be asked, why did I take the trouble to supply everything that walked and flew and crawled with water when water was so precious? A moment’s thought will furnish the answer. If I suffered all the animals, birds, and reptiles to die, I myself would be without food, and then my last state would be considerably worse than the first.

I think the snakes were the most ungrateful creatures of all. Sometimes they would deliberately coil themselves up in the trough itself, and so prevent the birds from approaching. I always knew when something of this kind had happened, because of the frightful screeching and general uproar set up by the indignant birds—that is to say, such as had the power to screech left. I would hurry to the spot and drag out the cause of the trouble with a forked stick. I never killed him, because there were already enough of his kind dead on every side. The very trees and grass died; and in this originated another almost equally terrible peril—the bush fires, of which more hereafter. Talking about snakes, one day I had a narrow escape from one of these ungrateful reptiles. A number of baby snakes had swarmed into the trough, and I was in the very act of angrily removing them when I heard a shout of horror from Yamba. I swung round, instinctively leaping sideways as I did so, and there, rearing itself high in the air, was an enormous snake, fully twenty feet long. Yamba, without a moment’s hesitation, aimed a tremendous blow at it and smashed its head.