Underground. Mudrooroo
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the very tip, he swung the wheel to bring us about. Our sail flapped, then tugged us in a different direction. ‘Now let’s see what is on the lee,’ he muttered. ‘Ah, there’s a bay between tail and body, it will be our resting place. Take us there, now girl.’
In obedience, the schooner slid into the bay.
‘Drop the sail, George,’ Wadawaka called. ‘I’ll lash the helm and then let go the anchor.’
Sheltered from the wind, our schooner seemed to sigh as she rode at peace. The light rain continued to fall, making the beach hazy and misty. It was then that Hercules leapt up on deck and gave a shout. Then most of our mob emerged to gaze at the shore. I looked at the woebegone lot. It hadn’t been fun being confined in the womb of the vessel; but the sight of land would quickly revive their spirits. And it did! They had had enough of ships and oceans and quickly unroped the boat which had been lashed to the deck and heaved it over the side. With a boat hook I held her close as Hercules and four men, bulky in their cloaks, gingerly clambered down then rowed off to reconnoitre the beach – although perhaps they might have waited for their shaman, my father Jangamuttuk, to go along with them, for who would negotiate the right of landing if there was another tribe of blackfellows living there. Hercules’ idea of negotiation was to knock out any opposition with his club; but what was a waddy against a spear or musket?
Wadawaka let them go without a word of protest. He had a healthy respect for the physical prowess of Hercules, but none for his mental abilities. Still, concerned about such a dash into the unknown, he lifted his telescope and carefully examined the island. He held it where the land rose up towards a central ridge. Even without the aid of the glass, I could see a small, square log cabin nestling in a hollow. ‘Someone there,’ he said, ‘not blackfellows either. There’s a garden about the hut and what seems to be corn growing. Well, we’ll wait a bit and let Hercules handle it. He’ll either get his fool head blown off, or bash someone’s head in.’
It was then that a musket shot sounded. A darker vapour marked the grey mist of rain in front of the cabin and then a figure came to the doorway. He calmly reloaded his long musket, but kept the butt resting between his legs. He looked at our mob who in turn eyed him. He stayed in his doorway not even bothering to raise his gun. After a few minutes of stalemate, Hercules and the men with him backed to the boat and pushed it off into the surf. They scrambled into it and hastily rowed for the schooner. It seemed that Hercules for once had decided that more than his club was necessary to break the deadlock. Perhaps we needed ghost weapons, I thought, dashing below to find my pistol. I checked its priming, then thrust it in my belt where it was hidden beneath my cloak.
When I came back on deck, I saw the boat pulling alongside and Wadawaka flinging down an armful of spears. I wondered why he hadn’t taken a couple of the muskets we had, but held my peace. Jangamuttuk, my father, now managed to make it up from below. The poor old fellow had suffered dreadfully from seasickness and was still shaky on his pins. Still, he wanted to go ashore and so I held the boat close to our vessel’s side while Wadawaka picked him up and deposited him in it. Even though it was now a tight squeeze, we ourselves then scrambled down. As we rowed towards the shore, each sweep of the oars threatened to swamp our overloaded dinghy.
Still, Wadawaka steadied himself enough to use his telescope. He passed it to me as a wave rose under us. As we rose higher and higher, I held the glass to my eye and trained it on the figure. It was indeed one of those we called ghosts, but clad in rough clothing similar to our own. He wore pants and a jacket made out of kangaroo skins with the fur inside. His grey hair hung lank about a face mostly covered with a grey beard from which a single blue eye gleamed balefully. The other, if he had one, was covered by a black patch. On his head he wore a possum skin which still held the head poking out above his forehead.
Suddenly, the eye piece of the telescope slammed into my eye as the wave broke. The boat shuddered and went under. It struggled up and then grounded. We scrambled out and as we pulled our craft up onto the beach, the ugly ghost shouted: ‘You lot, beware! This is my island and there’s only room enough for me.’ He lifted his long musket and aimed it towards us. This caused us to huddle about the boat, all except for Wadawaka, and Jangamuttuk who had revived once his feet had touched solid earth.
‘We’re coasting westwards,’ Wadawaka shouted, ‘but the wind’s agin us. We have to wait it out here. When it’s for us, we’ll be away. No problems with that, is there?’
‘Well, you are not much welcome,’ the ghost shouted. ‘From the looks of you, you’re not government or free booters such as myself. You got a fine vessel there; but who’s in charge of her? You blackfellows can hardly paddle a canoe, let alone sail a schooner. Where’s your captain? I’ll have a word with him, for I bid you welcome only as long as you keep the peace.’
‘We blackfellows crew and sail this schooner,’ Wadawaka shouted back. ‘You’ve never been to the West Indies where we do all the work, the sailing and the piloting and a right good job we make of it. Far better than some of them whiteskins that now rest on the bottom of the sea. They bandied words about our ability or lack of it.’
‘Well, it’s the first I’ve seen of it along these shores and I’ve been here from the first,’ rejoined the apparition. ‘You lot don’t seem to be West Indians anyways. More likely from that big island to the south east. I know them blackfellows or what remains of them as that’s where I started out, courtesy of Her Majesty’s Government. Anyway, find a spot to camp; but away from my cabin, and mind you leave my garden alone. Hard enough it was to get the seeds and then the plants to grow. There’s enough stealing from bandicoots and the like without you lot helping yourselves to them. Anyway get settled, and when you’ve had a feed of your own grub and got your land legs back, I’ll come down and hear out your tale. Sure enough, it’s indeed a worthy schooner you’ve got there, and run by blackfellows,’ he added, his glowing eye fixed on her. Then with his head nodding, setting the possum head bobbing, he disappeared back into his cabin.
Hercules snarled as the sound came to us of the door being slammed then barred. He stared at the closed door and growled: ‘Who wants to be cooped up with that. They stink and can’t keep their hands off our women. I’ve seen that creep somewheres before and I’ll remember in time. Well, he’ll keep. Let’s find a place to set up camp. I can’t stand this weepy rain that clings to your hair until it gets too heavy, then trickles down your neck.’
‘You find a spot,’ Wadawaka agreed. ‘I’ll go and get one of the spare sails. We don’t need a koorowri, a hut, but only the framework for a wooloa.’
I went with Wadawaka to the boat and helped him to push it into the water and then row out to our vessel. The rest of our mob took themselves ashore while we got the sail, a large pot and tin cups, some of our provisions, flour and salt tack. We stacked them into the boat which was waiting for us with the last of our people.
Back on shore, we found that Hercules had decided to set up camp in a thicket of small trees that grew in a shallow hollow some distance from the cabin. A number of saplings with forked tips had been cut which then had been hammered into the ground upright in a line. In the forks were placed horizontal poles and then others were propped along these at an angle of 45 degrees. We flung the canvas over this and fastened down the back with stones. It made a long open-fronted tent and protected us from the drizzle which still continued to fall. Everything dripped and we wondered where we might find dry kindling to start our fires. I looked across at the ghost’s cabin and at the lean-to stacked with short logs and kindling. The door was still tightly closed and as the only windows were to the front it was easy for me and a couple of others to sneak over and get what we wanted. Soon, we had three fires blazing along the long front of our tent and could feel the warmth against our skins. Now Wadawaka got me to fill the iron pot with water. The ghost had chosen his site well and there was a spring close to the cabin. When I returned, my friend had set up two upright forked sticks on opposite sides of a fire. He took the pot of water from me, put a green piece of wood through the handle and hung it over the fire. He flung in a piece of salt pork, then with a shrug went off to look over the garden. He came back with potatoes, beans and corn cobs which he put into the pot. When it came on the boil he pulled away some of the burning logs so that the