PARALLEL BETWEEN THE BOSJESMAN AND THE AUSTRALIAN — MODES OF BUILDING HUTS — A SUMMER ENCAMPMENT — RUDE NATURE OF THE HUTS — RETREATS OF THE WOMEN — BONE HUTS OF ENCOUNTER BAY — WINTER HOUSES — HUTS NEAR THE COORUNG — FIRE-MAKING — BIRD-SNARING — A SELF-ACTING SNARE — BOAT-BUILDING — USES OF THE STRINGY BARK — A FRAIL VESSEL — CANOE FOR GENERAL USE — THE REED CANOE — GRADUAL EXTINCTION OF NATIVE TRIBES.

In many points the Australian savage bears a curious resemblance to the Bosjesman of Southern Africa, of whom a full account has already been given at 242-268 page.

So similar, indeed, are they, that the colonists use the word Bushman to designate the native savage, just as they call the spotted dasyure by the name of cat, and the wombat by that of badger. Much confusion has consequently arisen; and there is now before me a book descriptive of savage life, in which the author has mixed up the Bosjesman of Africa and the Bushman of Australia in the most amusing manner, actually transplanting a quotation from a book of African travels into the account of Australia.

Like the Bosjesman, the Australian depends upon his weapons for the greater part of his food, living almost entirely upon the game which he kills, and being skilled in the art of destroying the wariest and most active of animals with the simplest of weapons. He lives in a state of perpetual feud, his quarrels not being worthy of the name of warfare; and his beau idéal of a warrior is a man who steals upon his enemy by craft, and kills his foe without danger to himself.

He cultivates no land, neither has he the least notion of improving his social condition. He cares nothing for clothes, except, perhaps, as a partial shelter from the elements, and utterly ridicules the notion that there is any connexion between clothing and modesty.

Indeed, on one occasion, when a girl had been presented with a petticoat by a white lady, and returned to her people, displaying with pride her newly acquired property, her companions instead of displaying envy at her finery, only jeered at her, inquiring whether she thought herself so much better than her forefathers, that she should want to wear clothes like the white strangers. The consequence was, that in a day or two the solitary garment was thrown aside, and she walked about as before, in the primitive accoutrements of her tribe.

Like the African Bosjesman, the Australian native has no settled home, although he considers himself as having a right to the district in which his tribe have taken up their abode. Contrary to the usage of civilized life, he is sensitive on the general question, and careless in detail. With civilized beings the hearth and home take the first place in the affections, the love of country being merely an extension of the love of home. With the Australian, however, as well as the Bosjesman, the case is just reversed. He has no home, and cares not for any one spot more than another, except that some spots are sheltered and others exposed. He passes a semi-nomad existence, not unlike that of the Arab, save that instead of pitching his tent on a convenient spot, and taking it away when he leaves it, he does not trouble himself even to carry the simple materials of a tent, but builds a rude hut in any spot which he may happen to fancy, and leaves it to decay when he forsakes the spot.

The chief object of the ordinary hut made by an Australian savage is to defend the inmates from the cold south-west breezes. Consequently, the entrances of the huts may be found, as a rule, turned toward the north-east, whence come the warm winds that have passed over the equator.

The summer encampment (see page 787) of an Australian family is very simple. A number of leafy boughs are stuck in the ground in a semicircular form, the size of the enclosed space varying with the number of the family. These boughs are seldom more than four feet in height, and often scarcely exceed a yard, their only object being to keep off the wind from the fire, and from the bodies of the natives as they squat round the flame or lie asleep. That any one should expect a shelter while he is standing never seems to enter the imagination of an Australian savage, who, like other savages, never dreams of standing when he can sit, or, indeed, of taking any trouble that is not absolutely necessary.

All the stories that are told of the industry of savage life are pure inventions, and if labor be, as we are often told, the truest nobility, we ought to hear no more of the “noble savage.” Consistently with this idea, the native Australian’s only idea of the hut is a place where he can sit and gorge himself with food, and lie down to sleep after his enormous meal. A fence a yard in height is therefore quite good enough for him, and, as long as no rain falls, he thinks a roof to be a needless expenditure of labor.

In the illustration referred to we have an example of an encampment on which the natives have bestowed rather more care than usual, and have actually taken the pains to form the branches into rude huts. The spears, shields, and other weapons of the natives are seen scattered about, while round the fire sit or lie the men who have satisfied their hunger. The reader will perceive that from a little distance such an encampment would be almost invisible; and, indeed, except by the thin smoke of the fire, the most practised eye can scarcely detect the spot where natives are encamping. Even the spears which project above the bush huts look at a little distance merely like dried sticks; and, if the inhabitants be very anxious to escape observation, they establish their encampment in a retired spot, where the surrounding objects harmonize as closely as possible with the rude shelter which answers all their needs.

In many places the natives construct a habitation similar in principle, but differing in structure. Should the locality abound in the eucalypytus, or stringy-bark tree, the natives make a hut altogether different in appearance. With wonderful dexterity, they strip off the bark of the tree in large flakes, six or seven feet in length. A few large branches of trees are then laid on the ground, so that they form a rough sort of framework, and upon these branches the flakes of bark are laid. An hour’s labor will make one of these huts, so that the natives have really no inducement to take any care of them. Even the very best hut which a native Australian ever made would be inferior to the handiwork of an English boy of ten years old. For my own part, I remember building far better huts than those of the Australians, though I was at the time much below ten years of age, and had gained all my knowledge of practical architecture from “Sandford and Merton.”

There is, however, one great advantage in these bark huts—namely, the rapidity with which they can be made, and the shelter which they really do give from the traveller’s great enemy, the night wind. Even European travellers have been glad to avail themselves of these simple structures, and have appreciated the invaluable aid of a few sheets of bark propped against a fallen branch. Those who have been forced to travel without tents through a houseless country have learned by experience that the very best shelter from the night winds is not height, but width. A tree, for example, forms but a very poor shelter, while a low wall barely eighteen inches high and six feet in length keeps off the wind, and enables the wearied traveller to rest in comparative comfort. Such a shelter is easily made from the sheets of stringy bark, one or two of which will form a shelter for several sleepers.

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.

In some parts of the country the natives make a self-acting snare, very much on the principle of the nets used in snaring rabbits. It consists of a sort of bag, and has its opening encircled by a running string, the other end of which is fastened to some fixed object, such as a tree-stump. The bag is made of split rattans, so that it remains open, and, as the meshes are very wide, the bait which is placed within it can easily be seen.

If a bird or animal should come to the bait, which is fixed at the very extremity of the bag, it naturally forces its way toward the tempting object, and in so doing pulls upon the string and closes the mouth of the bag behind it. The more it struggles, the firmer is it held; and so it remains until it is taken out, and the trap set again. This very ingenious snare is used mostly for bandicoots and similar animals, though birds are sometimes caught in it.

The natives have another self-acting trap, which is identical in principle with the eel baskets and lobster pots of our own country. A number of these traps were found by Mr. Carron in some huts near Princess Charlotte’s Bay. They were made of strips of cane, and were about five feet in length by eight or nine inches in diameter at the mouth. From the opening they gradually tapered for some four feet, and then suddenly enlarged into a large round basket or pocket, the lower ends of the neck projecting into the basket so as to hinder any animal from returning through the passage by which it entered. This trap was used indifferently for catching fish and small animals. For the latter purpose it was laid in their track, and for the former it was placed in a narrow channel, through which the fish were forced to pass by being driven by a party of natives in the water.

The reader will remember that on page 785 there is a reference to the “stringy-bark,” and its use in architecture. The same bark is used for a great number of purposes, among which that of boat-building is perhaps the most conspicuous. Should a native come to the side of a river which he does not wish to swim, he supplies himself with a boat in a very expeditious manner. Going to the nearest stringy-bark trees, and choosing one which has the lines of the bark straight and not gnarled, he chops a circle round the tree so as to sever the bark, and about seven or eight feet higher he chops a second circle. His next proceeding is to make a longitudinal cut down one side of the tree, and a corresponding one on the other side. He then inserts the handle of his tomahawk, his digging-stick, or any such implement, between the bark and the wood, and, by judicious handling, strips off the bark in two semi-cylindrical, trough-like pieces each of which is capable of being made into a boat.

Should he be alone, he seldom troubles himself to do more than tie the bark together at each end of the trough, and in this frail vessel he will commit himself to the river. But if his wife, or any second person, should be with him, he makes the simple boat more trustworthy by digging a quantity of clay out of the river bank, kneading it into each end of the trough, and tying the bark over the clay. As soon as he reaches the opposite shore, he lands, pushes the canoe back into the river and abandons it, knowing that to make a second canoe will not be nearly so troublesome as to take care of the first.

If, however, he wants a canoe in which he goes fishing, and which, in consequence, must be of a stronger make, he still adheres to the stringy bark as his material, though he takes more care in the manufacture. The bark is bent, like the birch bark of the North American Indians, by moisture and heat; and even with this better kind of boat clay is required at each end, and is also used for stopping up any leakage.

He also exhibits a still better use of the stringy-bark. The bark is not only formed into a boat-like shape, but it is kept in its form by cross-pieces of wood. The edges are also strengthened: and altogether this canoe shows a wonderful advance in boat-building. The vessel is propelled with a regular paddle instead of the fish spear: and altogether the boat and the accompanying implements remind the observer of the birch-bark canoes and vessels of America.

Another simple form of boat is made on a totally different principle from those which have already been described, and, instead of being a hollow trough of bark, is a solid bundle of reeds and sticks tied together in a very ingenious manner, and giving support to one or more persons, according to its size.

Such is the history of the aboriginal tribes of Australia, whose remarkable manners and customs are fast disappearing, together with the natives themselves. The poor creatures are aware of the fact, and seem to have lost all pleasure in the games and dances that formerly enlivened their existence. Many of the tribes are altogether extinct, and others are disappearing so fast that the people have lost all heart and spirit, and succumb almost without complaint to the fate which awaits them. In one tribe, for example, the Barrabool, which numbered upward of three hundred, the births during seventeen years were only twenty-four, being scarcely two births in three years; while the deaths had been between eighteen and nineteen per annum.

Mr. Lloyd gives a touching account of the survivors of this once flourishing tribe:—

“When I first landed in Geelong, in 1837, the Barrabool tribe numbered upward of three hundred sleek and healthy-looking blacks. A few months previous to my leaving that town, in May 1853, on casually strolling up to a couple of miam-miams, or native huts, that were erected upon the banks of the Burwan River, I observed seated there nine loobras (women) and one sickly child.

“Seeing so few natives, I was induced to ask after numbers of my old dark friends of early days—Ballyyang, the chief of the Barrabool tribe, the great Jaga-jaga, Panigerong, and many others, when I received the following pathetic reply: ‘Aha, Mitter Looyed, Ballyyang dedac (dead), Jaga-jaga dedac; Panigerong dedac,’ &c., naming many others; and, continuing their sorrowful tale, they chanted, in minor and funereal tones, in their own soft language, to the following effect:

“‘The stranger white man came in his great swimming corong (vessel), and landed at Corayio with his dedabul boulganas (large animals), and his anaki boulganas (little animals). He came with his boom-booms (double guns), his white miam-miams (tents), blankets, and tomahawks; and the dedabul ummageet (great white stranger) took away the long-inherited hunting-grounds of the poor Barrabool coolies and their children,’ &c., &c.

“Having worked themselves into a fit of passionate and excited grief, weeping, shaking their heads, and holding up their hands in bitter sorrow, they exclaimed, in wild and frenzied tones: ‘Coolie! coolie! coolie! where are our coolies now! Where are our fathers—mothers—brothers—sisters? Dead!—all gone! dead!’ Then, in broken English, they said, ‘Nebber mind, Mitter Looyed, tir; by ’m by all dem black fella come back white fella like it you.’ Such is the belief of the poor aborigines of Victoria; hence we may firmly infer that they possess a latent spark of hope in their minds as to another and better world.

“Then, with outstretched finger, they showed me the unhappy state of the aboriginal population. From their statement it appeared that there existed of the tribe at that moment only nine women, seven men, and one child. Their rapid diminution in numbers may be traced to a variety of causes. First, the chances of obtaining their natural food were considerably lessened by the entire occupation of the best grassed parts of the country, which originally abounded in kangaroo and other animals upon which they subsisted. The greater number of these valuable creatures, as an irresistible consequence, retired into the wild uninhabitable countries, far from the haunts of the white man and his destructive dogs.

“Having refused the aid of the Government and the Missionary Societies’ establishments at the River Burwan and Mount Rouse, the natives were to a serious extent deprived of animal food, so essential to a people who were ever exposed to the inclemencies of winter and the exhausting heats of summer. Influenza was one of the greatest scourges under which they suffered. Then, among other evils attending their association with the colonists, the brandy, rum, and tobacco told fearfully upon their already weakened constitutions.”

This one tribe is but an example of the others, all of whom are surely, and some not slowly, approaching the end of their existence. For many reasons we cannot but regret that entire races of men, possessing many fine qualities, should be thus passing away; but it is impossible not to perceive that they are but following the order of the world, the lower race preparing a home for the higher.

In the present instance, for example, the aborigines performed barely half of their duties as men. They partially exercised their dominion over the beasts and the birds—killing, but not otherwise utilizing them. But, although they inherited the earth, they did not subdue it, nor replenish it. They cleared away no useless bush or forest, to replace them with fruits; and they tilled no land, leaving the earth exactly in the same condition that they found it. Living almost entirely by the chase, it required a very large hunting-ground to support each man, and a single tribe gained a scanty and precarious living on a tract of land sufficient, when cultivated, to feed a thousand times their number. In fact, they occupied precisely the same relative position toward the human race as do the lion, tiger, and leopard toward the lower animals, and suffered in consequence from the same law of extinction.

In process of time white men came to introduce new arts into their country, clearing away useless forest, and covering the rescued earth with luxuriant wheat crops, sufficient to feed the whole of the aborigines of the country; bringing also with them herds of sheep and horned cattle to feed upon the vast plains which formerly nourished but a few kangaroo, and to multiply in such numbers that they not only supplied the whole of their adopted land with food, but their flesh was exported to the mother country.

The superior knowledge of the white man thus gave to the aborigines the means of securing their supplies of food; and therefore his advent was not a curse, but a benefit to them. But they could not take advantage of the opportunities thus offered to them, and, instead of seizing upon these new means of procuring the three great necessaries of human life, food, clothing, and lodging, they not only refused to employ them, but did their best to drive them out of the country, murdering the colonists, killing their cattle, destroying their crops, and burning their houses.

The means were offered to them of infinitely bettering their social condition, and the opportunity given them, by substituting peaceful labor for perpetual feuds, and of turning professional murderers into food-producers, of replenishing the land which their everlasting quarrels, irregular mode of existence, and carelessness of human life had well-nigh depopulated. These means they could not appreciate, and, as a natural consequence, had to make way for those who could. The inferior must always make way for the superior, and such has ever been the case with the savage. I am persuaded that the coming of the white man is not the sole, nor even the chief, cause of the decadence of savage tribes. I have already shown that we can introduce no vice in which the savage is not profoundly versed, and feel sure that the cause of extinction lies within the savage himself, and ought not to be attributed to the white man, who comes to take the place which the savage has practically vacated.