We have made a good camp here and we are eating well. I am getting stronger by the day and beginning to grow at last. It is a good feeling running my hand over the downy growth of beard on my chin.
I long to explore and make contact with the Aborigines, but Wouter says we should wait for them to come to us, and that one of us must always be here to guard the camp. I would like to go on my own, but Wouter says I need his protection – and that of his musket.
Our supply of flour has nearly run out and I wonder if grain grows anywhere in this place from which we can make more. It would be good to have a change from meat and roots. Time and again I attempt to fish the river. I try spearing fish with a sharpened stick but the river is fast flowing and I never succeed. I need some sort of net with which to trap them.
One day, at the river’s edge, tired from my unsuccessful attempts at fishing, I lie back on a rock with my feet dangling in the water and doze off.
At one point I wake and open my eyes – then close them again quickly, hoping I am still dreaming. But it is no dream. There, on the rock only a few feet away from me, basking in a patch of sunlight which filters through the branches, lies a dragon!
I freeze in horror. It must be a dragon. What else could it be, with its scaly skin and long blue tongue which flickers in and out of its mouth? I start to scrabble away from it but as soon I move, the dragon slithers away into the undergrowth.
It is the first time I have seen such a creature in this land of strange birds and animals, and my thudding heart takes a while to return to its normal pace. And when it does, and I can observe my surroundings without panic, I notice something else. On another rock a little way distant lies a strange-looking net! Is it for me? Cautiously, I make my way over to it, pick it up and turn it over in my hands.
I cannot help smiling. It is so simple. Why did I not think to make one like this? It is made from the tough vines that grow on the ground and swarm up the trees. Stripped of their leaves, the vines are strong and pliant and these have been woven together. The net is long and not very deep, so I realise that it stretches across the river to trap fish as they swim downstream. The net was not there before I settled down to sleep, so perhaps someone has been watching me try to fish – and left me a present!
I look round and, as usual, there is no one to be seen, but I take heart from what I hope is a gesture of friendship and walk upstream, hoping to find another of these nets in use so that I can examine it to see how it is attached.
I hug the net to my chest, thinking of the fish we will eat and wondering who has left it for me to find. I keep a careful watch on the ground; we have been here long enough to know that snakes live by the river and we don’t know if they are harmful or not. Overhead, the parrots shriek and every now and then I shade my eyes and squint up to watch them, red and green as they flash through the air and alight on the pale wood of the tall trees.
Several times I stop and peer into the water, but I cannot see another net. When I reach a bend in the river, I sit down on another rock. I have never been further than this and I wonder whether I should turn back. But I would like to find the person who gave me the net. If Wouter were with me, he would stop me, but he is back at the camp. I have already waited too long for him to agree to visit the Aborigines, and now I have a reason to seek them out. I want to thank them and I want to learn how to set the net.
As I walk, I tell myself that the Aborigines won’t be there. They won’t let me see them and will melt into the trees when they hear me approach, just as they have done before.
I keep walking. The afternoon is well advanced now and Wouter may come down to the river to look for me, but I don’t care. Let him come! Let him worry! I walk on, taking no trouble to go quietly, and as I walk, I wonder, as I have wondered so many times before, what these black people make of me – of us, of our fair skin. Will they know that we have come in a ship from another country, or will they think we have dropped from the sky?
It will be many years before I fully understand the shock they felt when they first saw us and their belief, not that we had come from another country, but that we were spirits of their dead ancestors come back to them. The Aborigines, after all, knew no land other than their own, they knew nothing of vast ships carrying men from foreign shores, of goods made of metal, of coins and woven cloth, of jewels, or of the great East India Company!
Even though I understood nothing of this on that momentous day when I walked upriver towards their camp, I was not fearful. My previous glimpses of the two men had not alarmed me and I felt sure that they would not harm me; having their gift of a net made me brave.
‘Pig-headed fool,’ Wouter would have said. And he did say this later, but that day I felt that the time was right. They had seen us; they knew we had made a camp; they had given us a conch shell; and now they had left a net for us. What I did not know then was that we had made our camp on the very spot on which they held their special tribal gatherings, their corroborees when all the local tribes come together to trade and to dance out stories of the spirits, their bodies painted up. Our choice of this spot made them believe even more strongly that we were, indeed, spirits of their ancestors come back to earth.
I walk on, sometimes whistling. Every now and then I stop and listen, but still I hear nothing. However, the smell of smoke is stronger in my nostrils now and I know their camp can’t be far away. I walk more slowly, more carefully, aware that any moment I may come upon them. I do not want to frighten them.
The first one I see is a young man, standing in the river bending over a net. He must have heard me approach, but he doesn’t look up and I stay where I am, watching him as he takes trapped fish from the net, bangs their heads on a rock and lays them in a piece of bark. Even though my heart is pounding in my chest, I notice how the net is strung across the river and anchored with heavy rocks.
He doesn’t look up until the last fish is in the bark platter. Then he picks up the platter, straightens up and stares at me, and despite his brave stance I can see that he is breathing fast and that the hands holding the platter are not quite steady.
I know I must be careful. I am still clutching the net and slowly, I hold it up and show my pleasure by smiling at him. He doesn’t smile back, but he starts to walk out of the river holding his fish above his head, his eyes sliding back to me from time to time. He is walking away from me now, and when he reaches the river bank he puts the platter carefully on dry land, before heaving himself out of the water with the help of a stout root at the water’s edge. Then he picks up his fish again, climbs up the bank and disappears into the trees.
I sit down to wait. What will he say to the others? Will more of them come down from the camp to look at me?
Time passes, and the sun is going down. No one has come to stare at me, but I don’t want to turn back now. In any case, soon it will be too dark to find my way downriver.
I am stiff with sitting still and waiting. At last I make up my mind. Before I lose courage, I set off up the steep bank into the trees, following the path taken by the young man. I can smell the smoke from their camp fire so I know I must be close to them. I stride forward with no attempt at stealth, snapping twigs underfoot so that they will hear me approach and not be surprised by me. And although I don’t feel very merry, I start whistling again, hoping that this will show them that I mean them no harm.
The trees start to thin out and the soil becomes sandy, like the soil around our own camp. I slow down and walk forward more slowly, looking carefully from side to side, wondering if they are hiding in the trees. And then, as I scramble up on to the flat ground, I see it. The Aborigines’ camp!
My first reaction is one of pride. Compared to ours, their camp is a mean sort of place. To be sure, there are a few rough huts, but they are not sturdy like ours and they look as though they are not built to last. In the middle of the camp there is a fire with stones around it. I see that the fish are cooking on it and that there are roots like the ones we have gathered roasting in the hot ashes.
I take all this in at a glance, then look at the people in front of me. They have heard me approach and they are all standing to face me. I swallow, and try not to show any fear. I still have the precious net and, again, I hold it before me and smile at them.
I am wearing my sailor’s trousers. Often Wouter and I go naked, but I wear the trousers to protect me when I walk through the undergrowth. And although I am overdressed compared to the Aborigines, I am glad of the trousers now, suddenly shy of my fair body which, even though it is bronzed from the sun, is so different from theirs.
They are smaller than me, even the men, and there are about a dozen of them. I think they are a family group, but I find it difficult to see any likeness between them. I notice that one of the men is a lot older than the others with wrinkled skin, a long beard flecked with white and thin legs; and there is an old woman, too, who I take to be his wife. The others are younger and sturdy. There is a woman nursing a child, a group of children, several young men including the young man from the river, and a young girl whom I suppose to be about fifteen. She is the only one who smiles at me, and I find myself blushing as I take in her nakedness. Her breasts, which are small and firm, are bare and her only covering is a strip of skin which hangs from her waist.
I keep smiling and holding the net out. Out of the corner of my eye I see several long, wooden spears propped up by a tree at the edge of the camp, made from straight branches of wood and sharp pieces of shale bound on to the end with strips of animal skin. There is also a hollowed-out root or branch beside the spears and some curved wooden objects.
I clear my throat and speak to them in my native Dutch, although I know they will not understand me. What do I say? I can’t remember, except that I try to explain where I am from. As soon as I have spoken, there is an instant excited chattering. They all talk at once and point at me. Suddenly my legs feel weak, and very slowly I lower myself to the ground and sit cross-legged, looking at them.
This seems to be a signal for action, and the old woman drags a fish from the fire and presents it to me on a piece of bark. Carefully, I place my net on the ground and take the bark platter. I blow on the fish until it cools and then I eat it with my fingers. What a treat to have different meat to eat!
I smile when I have finished, rub my stomach and thank the old woman. Suddenly she starts to laugh, her old body shaking, her hand in front of her mouth, and gradually the others join in, laughing and pointing at me.
Then I have an idea. Going over to a bare patch of sand, I find a stick and scratch a few marks with it. At once the laughing stops and all the Aborigines crowd forward to look.
I am no artist, but I manage to draw the rough outline of a ship with tall masts and many sails. I point to myself and I point to the image of the ship in the sand. Although they continue to laugh and make gestures, there is no sign that they understand.
Then one of the younger men comes forward. He is holding a broad leaf in his hand and on it are some loathsome-looking grubs. He hands the leaf to me and reluctantly I take it. I feel only disgust for the pale, wriggling creatures and have to force myself not to snatch my hand away. I have no idea what I should do with them.
Then the young man opens his mouth and with his hand makes an obvious gesture that they should be eaten.
Trying not to show horror, I put the grubs into my mouth and tip them down my throat, feeling the wretched things wriggle inside me and holding my hand over my mouth to stop myself from gagging.
It is the right thing to do! I have delighted them, though I cannot understand why. They smile at me, and one of the young men touches me on the shoulder. The old woman shuffles forward and feels the hair on my head, holding up one fair strand and then another, exclaiming and laughing.
Suddenly she reaches for my trousers and, with a shriek, pulls them down to my ankles. I am mortified as all the Aborigines stare, as one, at my manhood, and I wonder what they will do next. But, once satisfied that I am, indeed, a human – and a male – they turn away and chatter among themselves, leaving me to pull up my breeches, a deep blush covering my face.
I catch the eye of the young girl. She is the only one who is still looking at me, and she is giggling behind her hand. I smile at her.
If she knew what I had done on that island of death, she would never return my smile, but she does, and I see her gleaming white teeth as her lips part and notice how her eyes sparkle.
The island! My thoughts fly back to Wouter. It is nearly dark now and I cannot go back to our camp without a lantern. What shall I do?
The Aborigines seem to accept that I will sleep with them. One by one, the women and the old man leave the fire and go into the rough huts, but the young girl lingers and moves a little closer to me. I try to speak to her. I point to my chest.
‘Me Jan,’ I say.
She chatters away, so I try again, repeating my name until, at last, she makes an attempt to say it herself. ‘Meeaan’ is the best she can do. I nod in the darkness and she claps her hands together, then jumps up and runs into the hut.
The young men lie down on the sand near the fire and I join them, stretching out under the stars.
Wouter will be very angry when I do not return.