Idriess Ion Llewellyn - Nemarluk

An IMPRINT book

First published in Australia in 1941 by Angus & Robertson Reprinted in 1946, 1947, 1948, 1951, 1958

First published by ETT IMPRINT in 1995, 2016

Copyright Idriess Enterprises Pty Ltd 1941, 2016

This book is copyright.

Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of private study, research, criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part may be reproduced by any process without written permission. Inquiries should be addressed to the publishers.

ISBN 9781925416565 (pbk)

ISBN 9781925416572 (ebk)

Cover photograph: Nemarluk, Albany, Western Australia, 1858.

From the Macarthur Papers, State Library of New South Wales.

Cover design by Robyn Latimer

THIS is the story of Nemarluk, chief of the Cahn-mah, King of the Wilds. One of the last of the Stone Age men he deserved a better fate. I know the Wild Lands ; I knew Nemarluk personally. I hope you will know him when you have read this story of the last three years of his life. And that your sympathy will go out towards the aboriginal, the last of Gods Stone Age men.

I.L.I.

Out over the swamp, far across the plain, came a piercing hunting cry. That long drawn out, haunting cry sounded even above the babble of countless waterfowl. Then there was pandemonium; for throughout this vast swamp the people in their hunting were disturbing the bird life. And now arose the whistling and warking of wild ducks, the honking of geese, the hoarse boom-boom-boom of cranes, the screeching of clouds of cockatoos, the shrieking of thousands of parrots. Far over the waterway there sounded a wind of wings as clouds of birds arose noisily to circle and then come splashing down on to the water again.

Again they rose and fell, to wail away and rise again, the hunting cry of Nemarluk, chief of the Cahn-mah, King of the Wilds.

Nemarluk was gathering his Red Band together. He stood under a clump of pandanus palms, a magnificent young savage. Wild eyes deep-set under lowering brows, eager of face as he listened for answer to his call.

Already six feet two inches tall, broad chested with a springy quickness of body, he was a picture of youth and strength, and of muscle and sinew in rippling relief. Around his arms were the plaited arm bands that the women of the tribe loved to plait for Nemarluk, while his belt was of thick rolls of plaited human hair. His chest, shoulders, and thighs deeply ridged by the weals of hard flesh that denote full warriorhood.

His shaggy hair was bound back from the forehead by a headband in which gleamed brilliant parrot feathers. Straight up from the band stood a long eagle-hawk feather. In his right hand he clasped a wommera, in his left a bundle of long spears with assagai heads, the terrible, shovel-nosed spear of the Northern Territory aboriginal. Nemarluk, hero of twenty tribes, the mightiest hunter from the Victoria River to the Daly, from the inland mountains to the sea l

Not a sound, except the distant babble of waterfowl. Down through the long pandanus leaves filtered sunlight seemed to paint the young chiefs body a bronzered. This was a polish of wild-goose oil mixed with a brick-red powder made from crushed ant-hill. Primitive old trees these, and the sun seemed to love to kiss the body of her primitive son waiting there. Nemarluks nostrils sniffed questioningly, then he smiled in boyish pleasure.

Presently a warrior stepped beside him. Minmara, this one of the piercing eye, the rugged face, scars of spear and stone dagger plain upon his body. As he grunted a greeting his big mouth grinned from ear to ear. In minutes more Mankee the wrestler stepped beside them, then Mangul and Lin, and last of all Marragin, the crocodile hunter. He smiled. They grinned reply and rattled their spears. All were bronze-red men with the scarlet band of the killer painted upon their brow. Nemarluks chosen men these, the Red Band.

He strode away, out towards the plain. Noiseless as panthers they followed him, their eyes already roving for first sign of animal life. For Nemarluk had tired of ducks flesh and goose eggs; he wanted meat and the excitement of a hard chase.

It was a glorious morning with a blue sky far above this Did-ee plain that stretched nearly north and south farther than the eye could see. A sea of luxuriant grass with green islands upon it that were the palms and tall paper-barks of the swamps.

Distantly under a shimmer of sunlight, heavy grey shapes were pushing through the grass. A mob of buffalo these, fat and suspicious at what had made the birds take to flight. Through the plain meanders the Moyle River, its waters now almost lost to view in the long grass. A black, muddy bottom has the Moyle, home of countless wildfowl.

As the Red Band stepped out on to the plain a drum beat lightly.No, it was only a male swamp pheasant. He rose from the grass at their feet and alighted on a shrub his long tail swaying, his coal black coat agleam. The bush, the dearly beloved bush of primitive man, was singing with new life.

To Nemarluks eyes that bush stretched on and on and on, without end. He felt so happy he raised his voice in the triumph cry and a piercing Yak-ai! Yak-ai! Yak-ai! sped out far over the plain. Presently, very faintly from far away, there came floating an answering Yak-ai! They grinned, recognizing the call of Tiger, he of Tiger's Mob. And soTiger also wanted meat.

Light of heart the Red Band walked on. Natures children these, primitive sons of primitive men. This the land they loved, the life they loved. They felt very braveand they were brave. These and their tribesmen in Australias last few isolated places are the last of the Stone Age men. Alastheir most terrible weapon was and is only the shovel-nosed spear.

At seventy long steps I can kill a buffalo with this, grunted Marragin, kill a white mans bullock, too. And what a mess it makes of a man! Lovingly he balanced the weapon.

Dont blunt its edge, laughed Nemarluk. Soon you may want to use it.

There now! hissed Mangul, and they glanced towards two big buffalo horns moving above the grass.

They ducked down and crouching, swiftly separated to get around the beast. The hunt had begun. At sundown they would return to camp loaded with meat. For the Red Band never failed.

Now let us follow intelligently this story, for it is a true page from our frontier history; every man and woman mentioned lived or is living now. It is a story of white and brown and black, a story of endurance that fought on and on until the very last. It is the story of the hopeless fight of Stone Age man.

This was the wildest area in the Northern Territory, some hundreds of miles south-west of Darwin. This country, like a few similar areas in Australia, is known as the Wild Lands. Towards the east it is bounded by the Daly River, to the south by the Victoria. Its north and north-west is the wild coast. Far inland it is hemmed in by a maze of ranges that are a labyrinth of canyons and gorges and walls of cliffs protecting inaccessible native hideouts. Several hundreds of miles in length and depth, this country is nearly the last fastness of the Stone Age man. Fronting the ranges are the foothills. And then the plain country; the Moyle River country with its miles upon miles of swamps; the Did-ee and other big plains.

Running from the mountains through the plain country nearly midway to the south, to empty eventually near the mouth of the Victoria River runs the Fitzmaurice River, probably the gloomiest, loneliest, most dangerous river in Australia. For here was the haunt of King Chugulla and Tigers Mob. The plains end near the coast in forest or sand dune country, then mangrove. The coastal boundary of the Wild Lands is thus the sea. The southern side is bounded by the Victoria River, the eastern by the Daly. Inland by the long walls of ranges.