Corroboree

by Graham Masterton

  Joolonga, however, appeared to be somewhat wilier than those tame Aborigines like the celebrated Bennelong, who had once been taken to England and presented to King George III by his patron, Governor Arthur Phillips of New South Wales, and who afterwards had always held a scented silk handkerchief over his nose whenever his tribal relatives came to call on him at government house; or like the boastful chieftain Bungaree, of the Broken Bay tribe, who had worn a naval coat resplendent with gold lace, but no shirt, and whose six wives had been given the whimsical and degrading names of Askabout, Boatman, Broomstick, Gooseberry, Onion and Pincher. Joolonga seemed just as culturally isolated, perhaps: but very much more hard-baked, and very much more knowledgeable. He grinned all day, and he wore a cock-eyed midshipman’s hat, but there was nothing of Bennelong or Bungaree about him. He was not a strutting eccentric, nor a white man’s mimic, and by the way he looked back at Eyre, it was plain that his life was his own, and that he danced on no man’s string.

  He spat tobacco-juice into the dusty flowerbed. ‘You understand, sir, that Yonguldye is a Mabarn Man,’ he told Eyre.

  ‘You mean a medicine-man?’

  ‘If that is how you wish to describe it, sir, yes.’

  ‘Do you know him well?’

  Joolonga shook his head. ‘I have seen him only once, sir, when the troopers had to question him, on account of a killing.’

  ‘Oh, yes?’

  Joolonga raised his hand and pointed towards the north-west. ‘He had tracked down Willy Williway, sir, over three hundred miles, after Willy Williway had stabbed and murdered one of the Mindemarra Brothers.’

  ‘He tracked a man for three hundred miles?’ asked Eyre, impressed, but a little disbelieving. He had been warned by Captain Sturt about the tall tales that Aborigines could tell; and he knew from the conversations that he had had with Yanluga that even quite ‘civilised’ Aborigines lived partly in the real world and partly in the dreamtime.

  Joolonga said, ‘Yonguldye is the strongest Mabarn Man, sir, as strong as the Steel Bullet, some believe. Many say that they have seen him fly.’

  ‘Hm,’ said Christopher. ‘Many say that they have seen me fly, too, but only after a bottle-and-half of rum.’

  ‘It is easy to disbelieve, sir,’ replied Joolonga. ‘But the magistrate’s records show that Willy Williway murdered Jack Mindemarra in Nuriootpa, and that the medicine man Yonguldye followed him all the way to the head of the gulf; where Billy Mindemarra was able to kill him. There is a way of tracking wrongdoers, sir. The Mabarn Man will wear the Kurdaitja shoes, especially made of emu feathers, stuck together with human blood, and with these shoes he will be able to follow his quarry for miles and miles, sometimes with his eyes closed, over deserts and mountains and scrubs; and from the wearer of the Kurdaitja shoes there is no escape.’

  Eyre laid his hand on Christopher’s shoulder. ‘It seems as if Yonguldye is a man worth finding. But tell me, Joolonga, do you think that he may be likely to help us? If I ask him to perform the necessary ritual for Yanluga to find peace, do you believe that he will do it?’

  ‘You will have to ask him, sir,’ said Joolonga, not altogether respectfully.

  ‘Well, I can’t ask him until I find him, can I? Where do you think he’s likely to be?’

  ‘The last word I had of Yonguldye’s people was at the sacred place near Woocalla, sir. That is where we should go first.’

  ‘How far is Woocalla? Many days?’

  ‘Possibly five days, sir. Not more.’

  ‘Very well, then,’ said Eyre. ‘Is everything ready for us to leave?’

  ‘We have done our best, sir.’

  Eyre said, ‘You may stop calling me “sir” if you wish; since we have to live and travel together. I would prefer “Mr Walker”, if you must be formal, or “boss” if you do not.’

  Joolonga gave Eyre a glittery, sarcastic nod, and then went to tighten all the traces on the pack-horses, and chase away a young Aborigine boy who had discovered that one of the saddlebags contained sugar, and was dipping his hand into it. There were rifles in the packs, too: three Baker’s models, which Captain Sturt had shown Eyre how to load, and fire.

  Eyre beckoned to Midgegooroo, who came forward and raised his hand in salute.

  ‘Do you speak any English?’ Eyre asked him.

  Midgegooroo stared at him respectfully, but said nothing.

  ‘Joolonga!’ called Eyre. ‘Does Midgegooroo speak any English?’

  ‘Midgegooroo speaks no language at all, Mr Walker-sir. Midgegooroo has no tongue. But he understands simple orders, such as “stop”, “go”, “wait”, “eat”. And he is very strong, Mr Walker-sir. He can break limestones into chalk, just in his fist. And once he held up a carriage on his back while the wheel was changed.’

  From the crowd around the picket-fence, which had now increased to nearly a hundred people, there came laughter and singing. A young boy in a green velvet suit had brought along a violin, and was playing ‘All Around My Hat’. The sound of this tune had an obvious effect on Arthur Mortlock, who was becoming increasingly twitchy and impatient. The words of the tune spoke of ‘my true love, who is far, far away’, and ‘far, far away’ meant nothing more and nothing less than transportation as a convict.

  Captain Sturt came forward and snapped open his gold half-hunter, peering at it officiously. ‘Well, Mr Walker, nine of the clock. I believe it’s time for you to leave us.’

  ‘An admirable quest, if I might say so,’ said the Reverend T. Q. Stow. ‘Your father is a man of the cloth, I understand, Mr Walker? Quite admirable. The Lord has inspired so much, don’t you agree?’

  Eyre gave the Reverend Stow a tight little nod of agreement, and then called forward the boy Weeip. Weeip was in awe of all of them, and stood with his arms crossed over his bare chest like the wings of a fledgling galah bird, his eyes wide.

  ‘Weeip, do you know any English?’ Eyre asked him, kindly.

  ‘Few words, boss. I went to mission last dry.’

  ‘Well, that’s something,’ said Christopher. ‘I was beginning to think that we would have nobody to listen to for two months but the miserable Mortlock and the jesting Joolonga.’

  ‘Tell me what words you know,’ Eyre encouraged Weeip.

  Weeip closed his eyes, hesitated, and then rapidly recited in that high, clacking voice that Aborigines use whenever they become excited, ‘One hour father, which are dinner then? hallo my name; give us this daily-daily breath; give us this dress purses; as we four give them their dress purses; and lead us knotting ten station; but the liver is from Beef Hill; fine in the king pond; how is the glory? ever-ever our men.’

  The Reverend T. Q. Stow stared at the boy in utter astonishment. Christopher had to cover his mouth with his hand, and even Eyre, for all the tension he was feeling about Sturt and Arthur Mortlock, was unable to resist a smile.

  ‘Well,’ said Eyre, ‘that was very well done. Now, why don’t you go to that waggonette over there and fetch me my wooden case. The shiny wood box. Those are my medical supplies; and I want to make sure that we carry them with us.’

  He ruffled Weeip’s wild black curly hair. It was soft, but greasy, like a goat’s. Weeip scampered off to do what he was told, and Eyre turned back to Captain Sturt and Colonel Gawler, who had now come forward to make a short official sending-off speech.

  ‘We know that this expedition was first inspired by your personal sense of duty towards a single indigenous individual,’ said Colonel Gawler, then lifted both his hands for silence, and raised his voice louder, so that the chattering crowd quietened down. ‘But you have a wider duty, Mr Walker, a duty which I know you will do your utmost to discharge. And that is, towards the economic and geographical development of the free colony of South Australia; establishing its place in the world; and opening up for human investigation the unknown environment in which the municipality of Adelaide is set.

  ‘You. go with our blessing. You go with our heartfelt admiration. You go, of course, with a considerable
amount of our money invested in you, and all your forthcoming endeavours. But we know that you will not disappoint us. In fact, so sure do we feel that you will accomplish everything which today you are setting out to achieve, that we are making you a presentation. Mrs Dunstable!’

  ‘They’re not going to present us with Mrs Dunstable, are they?’ Christopher muttered in Eyre’s ear. Eyre touched his finger with his lips to tell him to be quiet.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Christopher. ‘Forgive me my dress purses.’

  Mrs Dunstable was ushered forward by Mr Pickens. She was one of the prettiest young ladies in Adelaide, but a widow. Her husband had died during their second winter in Australia of pneumonia, and since that time she had devoted herself to charity work, and particularly to helping all the scores of women, young and old, handsome and plain, who regularly arrived from England in search of a husband and a new life. In the face of considerable local hilarity, she had converted her house on Grenfell Street into a hostel, and spent three days of each week driving eligible young Englishwomen around the neighbouring farms and sheep-stations in a bullock dray seeking to place them with a suitable husband. Her service was politely referred to as ‘Cupid’s Carriage’, and less politely as ‘Mrs Dunstable’s Wholesale Harlots’.

  She was dressed in black, as always, with a black bonnet and veil; but her heart-shaped face was bright and appealing, and she stepped up to Eyre with a smile that was both pretty and completely confident, as if she were minor royalty, about to bestow on Eyre an honour which he had earned in devoted service to her most gracious person.

  ‘Mr Walker,’ she said, in a bell-like voice, and handed him an empty glass bottle with a screw top.

  Eyre looked at the bottle, and then at Mrs Dunstable, who blinked at him attractively, and then at Captain Sturt.

  ‘This bottle is a measure of our confidence in you,’ announced Colonel Gawler. He took the bottle out of Eyre’s hands and held it up for everyone to see. ‘In this bottle, you will bring home a sample of the water from the inland sea. In this bottle, you will bring back the proof that all of Captain Sturt’s theories are true, and that there is a vast untapped reservoir of water, just waiting for brave and adventurous men to push northwards and exploit its riches.’

  He handed the bottle back to Eyre, and said, in a quieter voice, but with well-contrived sincerity. ‘I have sent many expeditions northwards from Adelaide; all have been deterred by the conditions they have encountered soon after they have started their journey. But you, I know, will not be deterred. You have many compelling reasons for going, and many compelling reasons for finding those things that will make South Australia wealthy and great. Opals, perhaps. Diamonds. Lead, if you can locate it; and copper. But most of all I want you to bring back water, and that is why I have presented you with this bottle. For, once this bottle is full, it shall never again be emptied, not in my lifetime, nor yours, nor the lifetimes of anyone else who is present this morning.’

  Now Mrs Dunstable was handed by one of her lady-friends a folded Union Jack, sewn of segments of silk. This she gave to Captain Sturt, who presented it to Eyre with a dramatic bow.

  ‘This has been sewn for you by the ladies of Adelaide; so that you can carry it to the centre of the continent, there to leave it as a sign to the savage that the footsteps of civilised man have penetrated so far.’

  There was a slight ripple of applause, which quickly died away. Then Captain Sturt turned, raised his arm, and cried, ‘The time is arrived!’ and from the side lawn of the house, a brass quintet struck up, for no discernible reason, with a ragged version of ‘The March of the Davidsbündler against the Philistines’.

  With the help of Colonel Gawler’s Aborigine stable-boys, Eyre and Christopher and Arthur Mortlock mounted their horses; and were led by Joolonga to the front gates of Government House, and slowly through the applauding crowd. The brass quintet followed them at a slow march, alarming their mule so much that he kept braying and kicking out his heels, in spite of the weight of flour and bacon which he carried on his back.

  The gentlemen in the crowd raised their hats; some tossed them into the air; and the ladies fluttered their fans and spun their parasols and giggled a great deal. Somebody let off a firecracker, which popped and danced and jumped all over the dusty road, and caused several of the horses to rear up and thrash their hooves.

  They were right in the middle of the assembly, bowing and nodding and lifting their hats, when a small black gig drew up on the far side of the road. A flash of sun on its highly varnished door caught Eyre’s attention, and when he saw who it was he reined his horse around and lifted a single warning finger towards Arthur Mortlock. Out of the gig stepped Mr Chatto and Mr Rose, both of them dressed in clashing check country suits, and they strode quickly and purposefully straight towards the procession as if they knew already what they had to do.

  Mr Rose pushed his way through the crowd until he reached Eyre’s horse, and without a word he reached up and held its bridle. He was followed closely by Mr Chatto, who came close up to Eyre and stood with his arms folded and his face peaky with satisfaction. ‘Never heard of Arthur Mortlock, is that it, Mr Walker? Never knew what became of him? Well, sir, we beg to disagree, Mr Rose and I. We beg to venture that Mr Arthur Mortlock has been with you these past four days or more, and that he spent last evening with you at Mrs McConnell’s lodging-house on Hindley Street. And what’s more, we beg to suggest that the gentleman in the spectacles on the third horse there is none other than Arthur Mortlock himself, in person, disguised as a bona-fide member of this expedition.’

  Captain Sturt elbowed his way up to the front of the procession. The crowd’s cheers had now subsided to a discontented buzz; and a woman’s voice shouted out tipsily, ‘for shame!’ Somebody made a ribald remark about the mule, and a shudder of amusement went through the company, but then there was silence.

  ‘What’s this?’ Captain Sturt demanded, facing Mr Chatto with his fists on his hips. ‘This is a government expedition! How dare you attempt to delay it? These men must make a good distance before nightfall; and distance is money. My money, if you must know.’

  Mr Chatto removed his hat; and Mr Rose touched his brim.

  ‘My personal apologies, Captain,’ said Mr Chatto. ‘But we have reason to think that the gentleman in the spectacles is an absconded ticket-of-leave man by the name of Arthur Stanley Mortlock, wanted in New South Wales for breaking the conditions of his parole, and also for offences of violence and theft which were committed while making good his escape.’

  Captain Sturt was silent. He glanced up at Eyre, and then back at Arthur Mortlock. Eyre’s horse stepped nervously sideways, and its bridle clinked. Mr Rose patted its nose, and said, ‘Steady, old thing, steady.’

  At last, Sturt turned back to Mr Chatto, and said, ‘You must be mistaken, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I don’t think so, sir,’ Mr Chatto insisted. ‘And the worst of it is that these two genetemen here, sir, Mr Willis and Mr Walker, are both guilty of having harboured the said Arthur Mortlock, giving him shelter and succour; and of assisting him to elude custody. You can see for yourself, captain. They’re about to ride off with him right at this very moment. The felony is being committed in broad daylight, in front of a hundred witnesses.’

  Eyre said, as boldly as he could, ‘I’d like to see what evidence you have that this man is anything other than what he claims to be; and what I claim him to be. He is my cousin, not long ago arrived from England, Mr Martin Ransome.’

  ‘This is nonsense,’ replied Mr Chatto, coldly. ‘I will have to detain you.’

  ‘On whose authority?’ snapped Captain Sturt.

  ‘On the written personal authority of the Governor and Commissioner, Colonel George Gawler, if you’ll forgive me, captain. Do you wish to examine it? We have been given a free hand to recapture all absconders, and to detain all those who have assisted them.’

  Captain Sturt stared at Mr Chatto furiously, and then stamped his foot. ‘Is this true?’ he
demanded. He spun around, and confronted Colonel Gawler. ‘Is this true, George?’

  Colonel Gawler blushed, like a young girl who has just confessed to a secret and intimate misdeed. ‘Of course,’ he said. These men came to me with letters of authority from Major Sir George Gipps himself, Charles I could hardly deny them. And, of course, one had no idea that—’

  ‘If these men are detained, the entire expedition will have to be abandoned!’ shouted Sturt. ‘And that, George, is out of the question. That—is—quite—out of the question!’

  ‘My dear Charles—’ Colonel Gawler began.

  ‘“My dear Charles!” What do you mean, “my dear Charles!” These whelpish hirelings are attempting to ruin the most important geographical expedition in the history of Australia! With the exception of mine, of course. But nonetheless!’

  Mr Chatto remained where he was, unmoved by all of this blustering. ‘I have the authority, captain,’ he repeated, in a thin voice. ‘And I must insist on exercising it.’

  Eyre suddenly took off his hat, and held it against his chest. ‘If I might make a remark, Captain Sturt, it seems that our detention depends entirely on this gentleman’s assertion that my cousin Mr Martin Ransome is in fact an absconded ticket-of-leave man. Perhaps a few questions will satisfy him that he is mistaken.’

  Colonel Gawler, anxiously tugging at the braid on his ceremonial jacket, said, ‘Yes; well that might be a good idea. After all, if this isn’t the man you seek—’

  ‘I have no doubt that it is, sir,’ said Mr Chatto.

  ‘All the same,’ put in Sturt, ‘it seems to me fair that Mr Ransome here should not be branded as an offender until Mr Chatto has established his identity. It is hardly a cordial welcome for someone so recently arrived here.’