GOING, GOING—GONE!

Otago Daily Times, Issue 21198, 2 December 1930, Page 3

GOING, GOING—GONE!

“THE MARCH OF PROGRESS.”

Written for the Otago Daily Times,

By SbTON. It has almost come to be accepted as an established rule that aboriginal races must slowly fade before the march of civilisation. It is now many years since Trugannini, the last of the Tasmanians—her putty features are in bronze at the museum in Launceston—journeyed, heavy with years, to the arcadian hunting ground of her people. They say, in Tasmania, that a miserable collection of half-caste natives can still be seen on Flinders Island, off the mainland; but with Trugannini died a race. In hTew Zealand we have witnessed the passing of the Moriori in much the same way. The last pure-blooded representative of this people, one Xami Solomon, lives alone in Moriori glory on one of the Chatham Islands. He has a well-stocked farm at To Awapatiki, a Maori wife and a number of youngsters; but with him ends a chapter of history. When the Duke of York visited Christchurch, Tami, who tips the scale at 22 stone, arrived from Waitangi, in a steamer of about the same weight, to pay homage to the King’s son on behalf of the Moriori people! There was pathos in this act of fealty by the sole survivor of a once numerous race.

The Morions, or Mouriuris, have long puzzled ethnologists. According to Mr Lisbon Beat they were residents of New Zealand when a Maori voyager named Toi came this way 750 years ago. The Maoris had their own culture when they arrived in New Zealand, but it is thought that they may have learnt something from the Morions; possibly their system of earthwork defences and certain forma of decorative art that were different from those then prevailing in Polynesia. To the Maori, the Moriori must have been as the rat to the cat. -He was driven first to the South Island, thence to the Chathams where, to-day, the sandy burial grounds along the seashore reveal th" bleached bones of New Zealand’s preMaori stock. It is rather regrettable tiiE& so littlo was done to preserv© records of this most interesting race before its decimation and ultimate decay. It has been said that, with the advent of the whalers, the Morioris of the Chathams succumbed to the lures of civilisation in the shape of trinkets and geegawa which they eagerly sought, giving in return many valuable sealskins. At this time the art of weaving flax had been lost to them, and 'n P a rting with these skins they parted with their last vestige of comfort, at the same time hastening their decline The conquest of the Moriori by the Maori was a simple affair. Superstition proved to be more effective than bloodshed. The Morion law of tapu was even stronger than that of the Maori, and the Maori const 11 ' 3 ™*. with exquisite cruelty, forced the hapless Morion to break his own laws of tapu and to die of consequent remorse and terror. Miscegenation following the Visits of the whaling ships, moved many Native families a stage nearer whiteness, Meanwhile the Moriori continued to turn his face to the wall, in a self-doomed way, with the result that. W^ en -^ e i conol! l ve of the race is called, Tami Solomon has to talk to hime * °l ~e * ra ditions of the past Australia is faced with the tragedy that has been staged with such grim success in other lands—for the passing of a race must inevitably be regarded as tragic. £h« aborigine is slowly dying, despite efforts made by the Commonwealth Government to preserve him. The binghi ranks very low in the race scale although i . furnis hes an important link in the chain of evidence stretching back to the cradle of the human race. In many cases he is as close to the animal world as it is possible for a man to be, but for au that he is a quaint and interesting figure—often something more—and Austraha is loath to see him go. Watch him entering a back country township in Queensland on the day. set-apart for Uie annual distribution of blankets. His; enormous feet,-, projecting from ragged, disreputable trousers, strike the nd j * lk ? , A al ls, smacking up d K dust tha t are dutifully breathed in by a dejected lubra TwT kno 7 ins woman’s place—patters along a few paces in rear of her lord. 6 s i ump °, f an ancient pipe, wisps of foul smoke curl upward to be absorbed by a greasy grotesquely-flattened nose, fane is probably wondering whore she can ° r , f teal a crimson hat to go with the green blouse she is wearing in with a , sk ‘ r t the tail of which runs through vnMrTiu* , lkc n a sl . n ßle-furrow plough. For your black Evo is as susceptible t a the F®. ° f j col^ r n - 8 any of her more enlightened white sisters, although she lades ir°, m , eall 1 s , to carry put the gaudy schemes pate d nebuloußl y ln her rather addled

~ A 'ways moving, always hungry, always thirsty, the biackfellow is the gipsy of the south. For untold generations he kas been nomadic, living on the natural resources of his particular tribal district. tie chooses his hunting grounds close to tne water-holes where rove the' animals ar ?“, birds that permit him to make play with his boomerang, nulla-nulla (short Ki’i™ wommera (a longer spear, hurled from a sling). He has a catholic taste where food is’concerned, and dearly loves a goanna ” steak, a fricasse of Koala, or a slice of fried serpent. And alligator eggs of a ripe quality are ranked witn the major delicacies. In one part of Queensland a drink called moolah is “V 1 ; ? * r 2P tbe l arvae Of the green ant Which offer up a milk-like fluid when crushed. This, mixed with a little sea water, provides a beverage that is held in high esteem. But the spread of the white population is gradually encroaching the hunting grounds of the blackfellow. Wandering stock scatters his food supply beyond reasonable hope .of finding; the guns of the white man disturb his quarry; his beet water-holes are commandeered, and he is gradually being driven into territory of such an inhospitable nature that even the übiquitous crow is hard put to it to obtain a onecourse meal.

Through the years the Australians have been asking: “ What are we going to do for the blackfellow? ’ but Beyond the issue of a few blankets and occasional' gifts of disused trousers, little is done and the question may be regarded as purely rhetorical. True, reserves have been set aside for the aborigine, but according to students of native life these have been granted with little understanding of his needs. The mission stations, too, have staged a gallant fight against heavy odds. Strangely enough, the first recorded effort to Christianise the natives of Australia was made by the Rev. Samuel Mareden, who later played a similar role in New Zealand. He laboured among the blacks soon after his arrival in Sydney in 1705, The Rev. E. R. Cribble, for many years Protector of Aborigines in Queensland and Western Australia, has probably had as much success as any white man in winning the regard and trust of the blackfellow. He tells many interesting tales of hi 6 experiences in a recently-published book. One amusing anecdote concerns the formal appointment of King John of Yarrabah at which the monarch issued this prommciamento to his subjects: “Now you people, I am your king; not a jump-up king like them blackpfeller that got a brass plate on their necks, but a proper pfcllor king. I got a lot of people to look after. And when you have any trouble with anybody, leave it to me for lam king. If your wife growl do not hit her, but leave it to me. When anything go wrong leave it to me—and I will leave it to Mr Cribble.” I have met one or two King Billys in outback Australia, but never one who could outline a .kingly policy so succinctly. Despite the many peculiarities of the blackfellow, his mendacity and mendicity, and his slight confusion between the terms “ meum ” and “ tuum,” the average white Australian is well disposed toward his black brother, perhaps because he is really interested in the primitive life of these simple souls; perhaps for no particular reason except that it is easy for the average Australian to be friendly. the funeral bells are tolling for King Billy and his people, even as they rang for Tasmania’s Trungannini. One of the world’s oldest races is slowly dying. One of these fine days, when young Australia is disporting itself in the surf and sunshine, the soul of the last of the blackfollows will have sped its way to