CHAPTER XXIV

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*THE CORROBBERIE*

"Deep in the forest depths the tribe A mighty blazing fire have spread: Round this they spring with frantic yells, In hideous pigments all arrayed.

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One barred with yellow ochre, one A skeleton in startling white, Then one who dances furiously Blood-red against the great fire's light.

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Like some infernal scene it is-- The forest dark, the blazing fire, The ghostly birds, the dancing fiends, Whose savage chant swells ever higher." WILLIAM SHARP.

"Jacky and Willy want to know if they can have some raddle,[#] whitning, and blue: can they, dad?"

[#] Raddle: a red pigment used for marking sheep, etc.

"They're very reasonable, I maun say. And what are they aifter noo, the scamps?"

"Oh, I thought you knew, dad! There's going to be a grand corrobberie to-night. Old Tarpot has sent in a messenger for them to go out, and take this stuff with them, and----"

"Precious cool cheek on the pairt of Tarpot, and o' the boys as weel. Why couldna they come oure and ask me properly?"

"Dunno, dad."

"It's the blacks' way all over, dad," said Maggie.

"Dad, dad," interrupted Jessie, who was eagerly waiting a chance to get in a word, "you said, the last time there was a corrobberie, when you refused to let us go, that you would the next time. Now then, dado, you can't refuse to let us this time. Say you will. Ah, I know by your eyes you will say yes! You dear thing, it's worth a kiss and a hug."

When the ardent girl had bestowed these filial pledges she turned round to Sandy and the others, out of whose sails she had taken the wind in a manner.

"There now, young people, we are all going, for which I ought to be thanked. Only for my good memory, I'm afraid the dear man would have said no! wouldn't you, dadums? We'll make up a party, and Mr. Neville will, I am sure, be delighted at the exhibition."

"My stars, Jess, but you're gettin' 'em bad! You will be applying for a school teacher's billet next. Such consideration for Mr. Neville, too! Why----"

"Oh, brither mine, bless your poor thick skull; it's positively no use you trying to be funny--you simply can't. Oh, it'll be glorious fun," continued she, turning to the Englishman.

"But, Miss Jessie, please! In the first place, what is this corbobbery? Is that the way it is pronounced?"

"No, sir, it is not; though to be sure they do kick up a tremendous bobbery."

"Well, whatever the name, I suppose it stands for an aboriginal ceremonial or pastime?" said Neville smilingly.

"Exactly. Cor-rob-ber-ie is their Cafe Chautant, a free-and-easy; with this difference, though--all their performers appear in full dress; got up to kill by the aid of the tribe tonsorial artists and valets. The young bucks are perfect pictures, I do assure you; and as for the girls----"

"Don't take any notice of the saucy kid, Mr. Neville," broke in Sandy, who felt that he owed his young sister one. "She's only jigging you. It's their native dance and song by the firelight; she's right there. The men do the dancing, and the women simply play the music."

"Music! I had no idea that they were----"

"Musicians. Oh well, not exactly that. They beat time for the men. They, the men, are all painted up and armed. It's a sort of action song, but it's jolly fine, a tiptop sight, especially when there's a big mob of them. Sometimes four or five tribes get together for what they call the 'great corrobberie.' Then you see something; for there's generally ructions before they finish, particularly if there has been any grog in the camp. In that case they usually wind up with a fight, and then there's the killed and wounded to count when the cleaning-up's done. It's all right to-night, though. There will be only two tribes in it, and they've always been friendly. Would you like to come?"

"Come! I wouldn't miss it for the world. Yes, you may reckon on me for one--that is, of course, if your father is agreeable for us to go."

"I suppose, dad," said Sandy, turning to his father, "we may all go? It's to be held at the old spot."

"Oh, weel, I suppose you'd think me hard-herted if I said no? I'll jist mak' one condeetion, and that is, dinna interfere wi' the blacks. You maunna mak' ony attempt to boss them. Let them cairry oot things in their ain way."

"All serene, dad."

"Can the boys have the whitnin' and other things from the store?" repeated Sandy.

Consent is given, and the heart of Tarpot, the King of Bullaroi, is made glad with a goodly parcel of pigments.

That night after tea the party, including Denny Kineavy, mount their steeds and ride out to the corrobberie grounds, a matter of three miles.

It was situated on a lightly timbered box-tree flat, where a cleared space occurred forming a natural amphitheatre, wherein the aboriginal tribes foregathered periodically and disported themselves in their national characters and games at night time.

The blacks make a distinction in these festivals. There is the corrobberie and the cobborn (or great) corrobberie. It was one of the former that the whites were to witness. The latter occurred only at long intervals, and was a time of feasting as well as amusement; both feasting and play being prolonged often for weeks, and generally attended by all the tribes within a radius of hundreds of miles.

Each tribe would bring its song and dance (corrobberie), in many cases composed for the special occasion. This produced the exciting element of competition. A corrobberie of exceptional excellence would be learned by the other tribes, and on their return to their own country passed on to the surrounding tribes. Thus it happened sometimes that a corrobberie of singular merit travelled round and through the continent.

These folk-songs were associated with the dances, and treated on elemental themes, as war, the chase, the feast, love, birth, death. Often some humorous theme would be introduced, causing immense fun. As a rule each tribe had clowns, whose grotesque attitude and voice intonations were mirth-provoking to a degree. The Australian native manifests a keen appreciation of a joke and has an inborn tendency to laughter.

The preparations were far advanced by the time the station party arrived at the camp. The gins, to whom fell all labour of a manual sort, were lighting the fires, while the bucks were busy "dressing" for their parts.

The girls remained in the clearing talking to some of the old gins, while the males proceeded to the outskirts of the forest, where the work of adorning went on apace.

For this no pains were spared. The naked bodies of the dancers were treated by the tribe experts, and some fearfully and wonderfully startling effects were produced. Take His Majesty, Tarpot, as a sample. The ordinary court dress of the King consisted of a tattered police uniform, together with a crescent-shaped brass plate that adorned his breast, where it hung, suspended by a chain from his neck. The plate--presented to him on one occasion as a joke--bore upon it the inscription--

TARPOT, KING OF BULLAROI

But to-night Merri-dia-o is resplendent in a warrior's full rig. A hole bored through the cartilage of his nose peak displays the bone of an eagle's wing, about four inches long, the insignia of his maturity and dignity--his knighthood's spurs, so to speak.

Behold, then, athwart his nose, the polished bone, gleaming like ivory against the ebony background! His grey hair is trussed up, forming a big top-knot, and is adorned with the sulphur-hued crest of the white cockatoo, also with turkey-tail feathers. Wound several times round his somewhat corpulent body is a belt of human hair. This serves to hold the boomerang and other short weapons. A dingo-tail skin, split up the middle to the brush, and bound round the forehead with the brush erect and plume-like, gives grace and height to the stature. But the body and limb painting is the principal part. Each tribe has its devices. Pigments are largely used. The greater the number of colours the more fantastic is the effect.

When the boys strode up to the "dressing-room" where the tribe artiste were engaged, they found that most of the men had completed their adornments and were strutting about casting admiring or envious glances at one another. Merri-dia-o, however, was still in the hands of the dressers, and his markings were a triumph. Being a large-framed and portly fellow, he showed the designs to the best advantage. The colour scheme was brilliant, if nothing else. On his massive chest, which was whitewashed for a background, were drawn an emu and a kangaroo. The bird's plumage was bright blue, while the marsupial was as glaring as red ochre could make it. These cartoons covered breast and belly, the limbs being like animated barber's poles in red and white. On his back, upon a white ground, was coiled an enormous carpet snake, with erect head and protruding tongue. When seen in the corrobberie, armed with spears, shield, and boomerangs, this fantastic figure was without peer among the warrior-clowns, the whole effect being an extravaganza at once whimsical and wild.

By the time these preparations were ended the great central fire was blazing furiously, fed as it constantly was from a dry tinder stack.

The "orchestra," to the number of six, sat in a cluster behind the fire and beat time to the primitive measures. The musicians for the most part were old women, who were well-practised performers. Their instruments were as primitive as the songs they accompanied, consisting generally of a tightly folded opossum rug or a shield. These were operated upon by the palms of the hands or by sticks; a vigorous slapping of the thighs also gave variety to the combination. At any rate, a surprising din was raised.

It has been stated that two tribes participated. The Ding-donglas were the guests of the Bullarois, who had provided a grand supper of fat grubs, native yams, and roast kangaroo for the festivities.

According to immemorial precedence the visiting tribe "took the flure" first, and gave a most interesting and picturesque display. The subject of the corrobberie was an emu hunt, and was full of startling incident, presenting ludicrous aspects that created roars of laughter. The descriptive song was chanted in perfect time: a sort of runic lay, beginning in a low and monotonous key and gradually waxing louder as the chase progressed, finally ending crescendo in a cry of victory, what time the animal is overcome and slain.

The spectators, black and white, applauded most generously, our old friends Jacky and Willy being among the loudest. The station boys were in no ways different from their brothers in get up. For the moment they had abandoned the role of station hands for that of barbaric magnificoes.

The whites, especially the girls and Neville, who witnessed the spectacle for the first time, were delighted beyond measure. The silence following the huntsman's song was of short duration. The story-teller of the visiting tribe now advanced within the circle of light, and in sing-song tones recited one of their folklore stories.

THE COCKATOO'S NEST.[#]

[#] Tom Petrie's Reminiscences.

Once upon a time there lived happily together on an island three young aborigines, a brother and two sisters. This land was not very far from the mainland, and the three often used to gaze across at the long stretch of land, and think of journeying forth from their island home to see what it was like over there. They felt sure they would find lots of things to eat. So one day by means of a canoe they really did cross over, and began without loss of time to seek for 'possums, native bears, and so forth. In this search round about they at length espied a hollow limb, which looked uncommonly like a place where a nest would be, and so, going into a scrub near by, they cut a vine for climbing up. Up went the youth, while his sisters waited beneath. When he had cut open the limb, he found to his great joy a cockatoo's nest with young birds in it, and these latter he proceeded to throw down one by one to his sisters, the fall to the ground killing the poor things.

Now it so chanced that as the young fellow picked up the last little bird from the nest, a feather detached itself from its tail, and floating away on the air, at length settled fair on the chest of an old man asleep in a hut some distance away. This old man was really a ghost who owned the place, and the feather disturbed his rest and woke him up. Divining at once what was happening, he arose, and getting hold of a spear and a tomahawk, sallied forth to the tree, where he arrived before the young fellow had started to climb down. Seeing the birds dead, the old man was very angry, and said, "What business you take my birds? Who told you to come here?" He then commanded the tree to spread out and grow taller and taller, so that the young fellow could not get down, and, taking the dead birds, he put them in a big round dilly, and carried them to his hut.

Although the old man did not wait, the tree did his bidding, becoming immediately very wide and tall, and the young fellow tried his best to come down, but could not. So at last he started to sing to the other trees all around to come to him, which they did; and one falling right across where he stood, he was able to get to the ground that way. Somehow, though, in coming down he got hurt, and the gins had to make a fire to get hot ashes in order to cover him up there. He lay covered up so for half an hour, at the end of which time he was all right again.

Of course these three felt very indignant at the old man's behaviour, and they thirsted for revenge. So, calling all the birds of the air to them, they sought their assistance. These birds went in front, while the three cut their way through the thick scrub to the old man's hut; and ever as they went, to drown the noise of the cutting, the birds sang loudly, the wonga pigeon making a tremendous row with his waugh! waugh! waugh! When they had got nearly to the hut, the old man, who had been trying to make up for his disturbed sleep, heard the noise of the birds, and called crossly to them, "Here, what do you make such a noise for? I want to sleep!" But even as he spoke he was dozing, and presently went right off, suspecting nothing; and when the three reached the doorway, looking in, they saw him quite soundly sleeping. So the three clutched their weapons tightly,--the man his spear, and the women their yam sticks,--and advancing into the hut, they all viciously jobbed down at the old man, and lo! he was dead. His body was dragged forth and burned, and after the hut was robbed of the young cockatoos and all objects worthy of value it also was burned, and the three found their way back to the canoe, and departed home to their island laden with the spoil.

At the conclusion of the "yarn" the Bullarois retired to the trees fringing the clearing on the side directly opposite the audience. After a short harangue from Merri-dia-o, the braves, about twenty in number, fully armed and in their war-paint, issued from the forest, headed by their chief, shouting their battle-cry, gesticulating wildly, and making a great clatter with their weapons. Advancing upon the foe, now in line and now in sections, they battled with the enemy, crouching one moment behind their shields to receive the shower of imaginary spears thrown by their assailants, the next springing erect and casting, as it were, their weapons of offence. Following up this round, they bore upon the visionary foe and engaged in personal encounter. Retreating one moment and advancing the following, uttering war cries and fierce challenge, hurling coarse and stinging epithet, they gradually approached the fire; the gins meanwhile beat time, giving coherence and harmony to the bellicose proceedings.

There was such reality in the battle-play, the men were so earnest, their cries so passionate, their taunts so bitter; in short, there was such a ring of sincerity, such a presentation of the actual, that the white spectators were carried away as in the drama when the master mummers live their parts.

The boys were in a condition of exultancy. They were inspired by the martial display to a participation of fellow-feeling with the warring company. Neville, too, was fairly captured by this weird yet fierce and savage sham-fight. The thrill of combat held him so strongly that he could not refrain from leaping to his feet and yelling with the rest--urging them, indeed, to greater slaughter.

It was different with the girls. Fear laid hold of them at the unwonted sight. At first they joined in the hurrahs, but when the fighters neared them, and it seemed, as was indeed the case, that the very actors were being carried away by frenzy and battle-lust, their tongues ceased and a cold chill of apprehension seized them.

The warriors are now right up, fronting the fire. In a few minutes the grand finale will have been enacted, and the curtain rung down. Unfortunately, however, one of the young men has a quarrel with a youth belonging to the visiting tribe. In the culminating point of this sham fight he sees his enemy among the crowd of onlookers, and, urged by his excited feelings, he directs insulting remarks full at this man, who, running out into the clear space in front of the fighters, returns these with interest. This so enrages the Bullaroi youth that, darting from the ranks, he slings his spear full at the enemy, and transfixes him in the breast. Loud cries of consternation come from the women, and a moment's awful stillness from the men. Then, as if by magic, the Dingdonglas have risen in their wrath, arms in hand. The play has vanished, and downright fight and bloody battle ensues. Spears hurtle and boomerangs swish through the air; the crash of nulla-nulla on shields supplants the music of the orchestra, the while the gins flee in sheer terror from the bloody scene to their huts in the forest, rending the air with their shrill screams as they speed.

But what of the whites?

They stand a few moments horrorstruck at the raging human cyclone. At first the grim reality seemed unreal, just as previously the sham battle-action appeared real. Joe is the first to size up the situation. Not only are the blacks in blood-red earnest, but there is actual peril to the spectators. The combatants are surging to and fro in the strife of conflict, and circling as though in a vortex. At any moment the spectators might be drawn into the battle zone through the movements of the belligerents.

"Come, Mag, Jess, quickly!" cries that youth, seizing the girls as he speaks and drawing them away. "The brutes are at it in real earnest. Come! we must bolt to the trees. Great Caesar, look at that!" A spear whistled through the air and impaled itself in a tree near by.

Just then, one of the fighters detached himself from the scrum and came bounding up to the little group, spear extended. As he seemed to be on hostile intent, the youths lined up in front of the girls, ready to defend them and grapple with the foe. On nearing, Sandy knew him to be Willy the station boy. Willy, loyal to the family, came to entreat them to leave the field. There was little fear of any direct attack upon them, though it were hard to say what turn the savage mind might take. The apparent danger was from fugitive spears and boomerangs. So Willy paused but to cry out, "Take 'em girls to horses: safe there; no safe here. Go!" and then skipped back to his band, throwing himself heart and soul into the fray. For the hour the boy was as great a savage as any of the young men of the tribe.

The girls, now really terrified, need no pressure to leave; so they scurry from the field and reach their horses, some distance beyond spear reach. There they watch the tide of battle as it ebbs and flows until it dies, which it is not long in doing, from its very violence.

When the casualties were reckoned it was found that most of the combatants had received bruises or gashes, limbs were broken, but the only fatalities were those of the lads who began the quarrel. Now that the fight is over, both sides settle down to supper in the best of humours. The slate has been cleaned in this primitive fashion, and now friendships are renewed over handfuls of luscious tree-grubs and hunches of roast kangaroo. To-morrow there will be weeping in common over the biers of the departed braves.

"Well, Denny, what do you think of this dreadful corrobberie?" exclaimed Jessie to the Irish boy as they rode home about midnight.

"Phwat div Oi think iv it, Miss Jassie? Whoi, it's been a lovely foight, shure. Och, they're the very divils ontoirely! Nivir seen sich a bit of divarsion since Oi left owld Oireland, bedad! Begorrah, it'd ta-ake owld Tipperary itself to bate it."

"Do you know what I've been thinking of, Denny?" continued the mischievous girl.

"Nawthin' but lovely thoughts, Miss Jassie."

"You of course are the best judge, Denny, being an Irishman. What I was thinking was this: scratch an aboriginal, and you have an Irishman."

"Och, dear-a-dear, Miss Jassie, to maline me poor counthrymen loike that! Troth, then," cried the lad, with a serio-comic air and the suspicion of a wink, "there's one thing indade which Irishmen have in common wid these poor naggurs."

"What is that, Denny?"

"We both suffer at the hands of Saxon landlords."

And Jessie had no answer.

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