“SLACK JUSTICE”

Evening Star, Issue 20032, 24 November 1928, Page 23

“SLACK JUSTICE”

UFE IN THE AUSTRALIAN HOB’WEST WHITE MAK AND “ADOS•• MEMORIES OF CHAIN GANGS [Written by Anne Rutledge, for the “Evening Star.’] The idea of the following article came from recent news about the shooting ol natives in Central Aus tralia by police who were sent to make arrests for the murder of a white man. About thirty years ago, Roebourne, a Nor’-west Australian town, had little else to boast of except a handful of weatherboard, iron-roofed buildings, three of which were hotels, a scarcity of white inhabitants, much heat, and inulga scrub. For nine months at a stretch the town would lie baked and parched for lack of rain. The salt creek at the end of the main thoroughfare would glitter fiercely in the blazing sunshine, and the one-horse tram, the only means of public transportation to the coastal town of Cossack, several miles distant, would rumble along at a “jig-jog” P ace i n red, choking clouds of dust. In those days it was not an unusual sight to see a buggy, ‘ shabby and dilapidated like its driver, drift in from the “ back of beyond.” Civilisation looked good to theso ‘‘flotsam and jetsam” of the bush, especially as they frequently brought, tied in sundry bits of sacking, real gold 1 Many a prospector with six months’ growth of board, and driving a horse little more than a bag of bones, claimed relationship to well-known English families. One young fellow, speaking several languages, was known to come in from the bust ervory few months, with scarcely a rag to his back. But the transformation was striking when he received tho value of his gold at the local bank! Ho would rig nimself out in the latest Roebourne fashions, and then proceed to tho nearest public,house to pour his dearly-bought gold with great gusto and hospitality into the coffers of the publican. With luck his cheque might hist throe weeks. Three weeks of spinning yarns over a whisky bottles, questionable hilarity, and painting the town red! Wild tales ho could tell, gruesome and blood-curdling. Of corroborccs; where the blacks paraded, and danced decorated with weirdly-painted bodies—dots, circles, and lines on thigh and breast, no two patterns alike. And at tho bucklegaroo ceremonies (forbidden to the women) their faces were painted, masklike, with red ochre and pipeclay, pounded together with grease. But that, of course, was “ pinkeye” (feevt) time, when tho “millimillis” (letter sticks) passed from one tribe to another, so that all could gather for the celebrations. There were shrill, piercing voices, and low, melodious crooning; gesticulating agilo figures wore cockatoos’ feathers and imitated the flocks of white cockatoos that flew across the plains by prancing, strutting, and shaking of brown lean bodies, to and fro, up and down, before the glow of their camp fires. Then would their boomerangs fly away at lightning speed, and their fire sticks whirl into tho shadows of tho night like giant fire crackers. Harmless and happy enough, they ■were left alone in their own peaceful habitations or “ uloos ” (huts) with their gins or lubras (women) and little cooboos (babies), who are christened mostly after the storm-cloud, tho wind, or the hurricane. Who could condemn them if they had no desire to give up their gins to passing whito-skinnod travellers? On big, lonely cattle star tions, where white women were unknown and tho boss had a certain standing in tho eyes of the aboriginals, they were pleased to barter tho lubras for blankets or whisky, and to-day there are thousands of half-castes in Australia who bear witness to these transactions. But when tho casual prospector stole their women, and cast them off later by tho bush track to die, who could blame the blacks for “ tracking ” stealthily after such a quarry? Many white men met them doom at the hands of the aboriginals for that reason. Yet are their codes of honour so very different from our own? Who shall judge? Roebourne, then, had quite a fairsized camp of blacks ou the outskirts of the town. The gins, after they had been trained to cleanliness, made faithful servants to tho white townspeople. Their men, not long broken in to civilisation, responded eagerly to kindness and attention. Holding their corrowithin sight of the town, their Ittith in the white man was amazing, Specially as his fast-approaching " culture” was rapidly taking its toll! The large gangs of blacks that left Roebourne Prison daily, chained together by heavy, clanking chains, to work on the roads, reflected barbarous cruelties. They were cowed, wretched creatures, their eyes vfollowing thorn warders in mute appeal; forlorn outcasts, their now bent, emaciated bodies, once virile and lordly, in a great wide contingent that not long since had been their own. Were they guilty of any greater offence than imitating the behaviour of the white man? He invaded their hunting grounds, shooting giant _ ’roos for amusement, and was not particular if a stray shot bowled over a native or two. Then the blacks learned how to spear the white man’s cattle, and. what is more important, how to spear white men, too, in retaliation! The police rode out then and captured the blacks dozens at a time. In those days about Is 6d per head was paid for any unfortunate “ Abos ” brought in. But who will probe the secrets, tragedies, and regrets buried in the breast of the great Nor’-West? Perhaps it is better to strive for peace and goodwill than to disturb the long, tranquil silences of the bush country, where miles of gorgeous tawny and russet “ kangaroo paws ” lift blossoms as gracefully realistic as their name to the cloudless blue of ever-sunny skies.