From the Edge Read online

  The next morning, 30 March, they followed a well-worn Aboriginal path through the heath, the ground carpeted in fallen leaves that cushioned their bare feet. Upon reaching a large river at Wonboyn ‘too deep to ford’, they stopped to build yet another raft, when to Clark’s delight ‘three of our native friends, from whom we parted yesterday re-joined us and assisted us over’. He was overwhelmed by their generosity—‘for the act was really kind, as they knew we had this river to cross and appear to have followed us purposely to lend their assistance’. From now on, they were frequently helped across rivers and shown the way north along traditional paths. Because they were passers-by, moving through Country rather than seeking to occupy and settle the land, they presented less threat to the Aboriginal people who invariably saw them as the ghosts of their departed ancestors ‘jumped up white’. Travelling further north to Twofold Bay and Pambula, through patches of country strewn with ‘a variety of flowers’, they were followed by their ‘old friends’ most of the way. Nearly fifty years later, an old Thaua man who was in his late teens when Clark’s party passed through Twofold Bay in 1797, told the story of the first white men who came through his Country, and how his people retreated to the hills, ‘appalled by the horrid colour of the newcomers’.18

  Heathland, Nadgee Nature Reserve, New South Wales, 2013

  North of Twofold Bay at Pambula Inlet, the Thaua received them in ‘a very amicable manner’, even providing them with a meal of shellfish, which allowed them to regain their strength and walk on another ‘6 miles’. As they continued through Merimbula and Tathra and entered Djirringanj Country, they looked to Aboriginal people for food and water. The terrain was becoming more difficult, and they again found themselves the next day walking over ‘very high bluffs, sharp rocks … and very thick brushwood’, which so ‘bruised and wounded their feet’ that some of the weaker members of the party ‘remained lame for sometime afterwards’. They crawled for the last ‘10 miles’, losing two of their companions who failed to reappear until midday the following day. It was the first serious indication that some members of the party were beginning to weaken. Despite the looming prospect of failure, Clark persisted with his journal writing at the end of every day. He could still find it within himself to enjoy the pleasures of the country through which they were moving. On 5 April, three weeks underway, he savoured the delights of some ‘skate’ and a shark ‘about 4 feet long’ they had managed to catch near Tathra. After crossing ‘a delightful plain’ and traversing ‘hills and valleys’ the following two days, he reclined on a riverbank that evening, listening to the distant ‘roaring of the surf on the seashore’. Unbeknown to him, the beauty that he found in the landscape was also reflected in Djirringanj place names such as Merimbula—‘beautiful place of plenty, paradise’. At moments like these his trek appeared idyllic. But entering the second half of their journey, Sydney would begin to appear beyond their reach. With their rice finally at an end, a diet of fish alone was not sufficient to sustain them, especially as they were still seeking to average 25 kilometres a day. Drawn increasingly into the world of the Aboriginal people they were meeting along the way—their rituals and protocols, especially those associated with territorial incursion—Clark and Thompson discovered that they were slowly being enveloped in cultural practices that bewildered them. Compared to the encounters between the British and the Eora at Sydney Cove, they were meeting Aboriginal people on far more vulnerable terms: weakened by fatigue, with limited arms, without shelter and transport, and with no means of demonstrating their ‘authority’. As they continued their passage along the coast, disagreements began to break out over how to best deal with ‘the natives’.

  After crossing Murrah River, ‘about fifty armed natives’ confronted them. This was the largest body of Aboriginal people they had seen to date. Clark was determined ‘to betray no symptoms of fear’. Together with Thompson, he advanced towards them, ‘and after some preliminary signs and gestures on both sides’ and satisfying their demand for longer pieces of calico, he managed to come to ‘some understanding’. These tentative gestures—raised hands or outstretched arms with open palms to indicate peaceful intentions—were made amid the crossfire of Clark’s Scottish brogue knocking up against the voices of Aboriginal men; a barrage of salutations, reassurances, warnings and declarations that were uttered instinctively even though they could only be understood when acted out. The two groups parted, Clark admitting that he was ‘glad’ to be ‘rid of them’. But as soon as they set out the next morning, heading north towards Bermagui, the same group of Djirringanj men appeared before them at Cuttagee Beach, making ‘dreadful shoutings’ and raising their spears ‘ready to discharge’. This time, Clark and Thompson singled out the men they ‘supposed to be their chiefs’, and after ‘making them some small presents’, were again allowed to proceed. It was much the same the following morning on a sandy reach beside the Bermagui River. ‘Overtaken’ by some of the same Aboriginal men they recognised from the previous two days, they determined to make a show of strength. There they stood as one on the sand, a huddled group of frightened interlopers, brandishing their crude clubs, ‘one gun, two pistols and two small swords’. The display worked magnificently. They managed to exchange a piece of cloth for a ‘large kangaroo’s tail’ from which they made a nourishing soup. It was one of their few meals of red meat since they left Preservation Island and it gave them the strength to walk on another 30 kilometres ‘over a number of rugged and disagreeable heights’.

  Cuttagee Beach, 7 kilometres south of Bermagui, New South Wales, 2013

  By the time they reached Wallaga Lake on 11 April, Clark was beginning to discern the differences between the Aboriginal groups they were meeting along the way. They had now entered the Country of the Walbanga, which stretched all the way from Wallaga towards Ulladulla. In the centre of the lake was Merriman’s Island, its outline the shape of the black duck—‘Umbarra’—the Walbanga’s totem. Immediately, Clark noted their friendly disposition. ‘As far as we could understand these natives were of a different tribe from those we had seen, and were then at war with them. They possessed a liberality to which the others were strangers, and freely gave us a part of the little they had’. Treated to a meal of mussels, Clark was surprised when the Walbanga invited the party to ‘remain with them for the night’. They accepted gladly, following the Aboriginal men through the bush until they reached the camp by the lakeside. Here, sitting on the ground, they participated in an evening’s entertainment. Women and children were brought out to ‘see’ them, and they sat patiently while they were inspected in close detail. They had learnt by now how to play the subjects of mirth and curiosity. Before the entire tribe, Clark and Thompson mimed the fierce and intimidating demeanour of the Djirringanj men who had caused them so much trouble during the previous days. They mimicked their shouting, their raised spears and their rude behaviour. It was a bravura performance. Both the ‘old and the young’ in the audience rushed to give them more of their shellfish in appreciation. For the Aboriginal people at Wallaga Lake, this theatre by firelight was the first time they had seen Europeans at such close quarters. Clark’s intense dislike of their warring neighbours no doubt endeared his party to the Walbanga. News of the British settlement north of Sydney had certainly travelled north and south along the coast. Whether the Walbanga saw Clark as being somehow connected to the strangers residing to the north is difficult to know. But the mere fact that Clark explained to the Walbanga his party’s need to continue northwards may well have been understood as attempting to reach Sydney. For Clark and the others, now more than a month underway from Preservation Island, and embedded in Aboriginal culture and Country as they were, Hamilton and the survivors were no doubt slipping more and more from view. When Clark departed in the longboat, his mission was to request help from Governor Hunter in Sydney. Yet here he was requesting help from ‘the natives’, without whose assistance he knew they surely would have perished. He had discovered one thing: outside of the tiny
settlement at Port Jackson, there was nothing British about the continent of New Holland. Having already traversed more of the country than any other European before him, Clark was beginning to appreciate the intricate web of Indigenous Countries imprinted on the land. He was the nomad, the ghostly visitor passing through one occupied territory after the next, each with its own language, system of law, songlines and unique cultural protocols.19

  For the next five days, as they pressed on towards Jervis Bay, Clark and Thompson were fed and assisted all the way by Walbanga men. They followed the party and helped them across three ‘large rivers’ in their canoes—at Narooma, Tuross and Moruya. These crossings gave the Walbanga much amusement because so few of Clark’s party knew how to sit properly in their canoes. Every time they pushed out from the bank they would soon capsize, or as Clark politely explained, their crossings were accompanied by ‘several duckings’. He watched with some embarrassment as his men fell out of the canoes while ‘the natives’ managed to put three or four passengers in their ‘rude little vehicles formed of bark, tied at both ends with twigs, and not exceeding 8 feet in length, by 2 in breadth’ and ‘paddle about in them with the greatest facility and security’. Clark wondered if their generosity was spontaneous or ‘that perceiving we should find it difficult they had come to our assistance’. But there was little doubt that the Walbanga men had intentionally followed Clark’s every step, informing their countrymen ahead to assist the walkers in an effort to speed their progress northwards. They alone knew where the shallow crossing points were at every river mouth. They knew how to save the walkers time, ‘avoid several high points and cut off a great deal of ground’. And of course, they knew where to find food and water. At one point, Clark actually used the word ‘guide’ to refer to one Aboriginal man who showed them the best path to take and also instructed a group of his people ahead to give the ailing party ‘a plentiful supply of fish’. Originally wary of meeting Aboriginal people when they set out, they were now looking for them every step of their journey—‘we now often stopt some time with the natives when we found them kind to us’. Yet despite the generous assistance they had received to date, in the space of a few days only eight members of the party would be strong enough to continue.

  At Moruya River, on the morning of 16 April, Clark and Thompson were forced to leave nine of their men behind, all of them Lascars. They could walk no farther. While Clark hoped that they might catch up ‘in a day or two’, he knew they were farewelling them for the last time. The Lascars were never seen or heard of again, although given the hospitality of Aboriginal people throughout this stage of their walk, the chances that the stronger among them were adopted by the Walbanga, and survived, seem high. The remaining members of the party—Clark, his Lascar man-servant, Thompson, Bennet, the ‘carpenter’ and three Lascars—were reluctant to leave the nine behind at Moruya, but they were now in a position in which every day lost further decreased their chances of reaching Sydney.

  The following day, at Tomakin, after searching upstream for shallow water, they found an ‘old canoe on the bank’ of ‘a narrow but deep river’. Thinking they were safe, Clark and three others crossed over. Thompson, however, ‘who could not swim … was left struggling in the water by the canoe sinking under him’. The tidal currents were dangerously strong. As Clark later described the scene, ‘this was witnessed by four Bengal blacks, who, though they were adept at swimming, stood unmoved spectators. I instantly jumped in and flew to his relief, although very much fatigued and very cold. I seized him by the hair and drew him to the shore motionless … placed him over a rock with his head downwards, pressing him at the same time on the back, by which means he discharged much seawater by the mouth, and in a little time recovered’. Clearly angered by the Lascars’ refusal to help Thompson, Clark offered no clue as to why they remained ‘unmoved’. Yet it seems possible that they were angered by Thompson and Clark’s decision to leave their compatriots behind at Moruya. They had not wanted to continue without them.

  Severely weakened by his near drowning, Thompson slowed the party’s progress. They could only walk 13 kilometres the following day. Clark decided that he would walk with Thompson while the others went ahead to the next river crossing. Two days later, he finally caught up with them. On 20 April, they were fortunately shown the way by their Aboriginal guide beyond Batemans Bay, through an ‘immense wood, the plain of which was covered with long grass’. So dependent had they become on Aboriginal people, Clark complained as they left Ulladulla that they had ‘walked 10 or 12 miles each day without meeting with any natives, and being wholly without nourishment almost perished for want’. As they approached Jervis Bay, now little more than two hundred kilometres from Sydney, they would encounter the greatest test they had faced so far.

  At 9 a.m. on the morning of 26 April, Clark’s party reached Wreck Bay near Sussex Inlet, the Country of the Wandandian, which extended north to Nowra. There, they ‘observed several natives on the top of a high bluff’. At first Clark thought they appeared friendly. When they ‘made signs’ that they were hungry, they were immediately brought ‘plenty of fish’. But as they carried on they were soon confronted by a hundred ‘strong natives … shouting and [howling] in a most hideous manner’. Two more Lascars had already dropped behind, and Clark knew they were alarmingly outnumbered: ‘we were only six opposed to such a multitude … [and had] only one musket unloaded and two pistols out of repair’. Until now, they had managed to avoid violence but on this occasion, either because they had unknowingly failed to pay due respect to cultural protocols regarding their presence in Wandandian territory, or because some of their ‘signs’ were misread, a handful of Aboriginal men ‘began throwing their spears’. As Clark raised his arms, pleading with the men to ‘desist’, he was speared ‘through both hands’. In the same moment, his man-servant and Thompson were also wounded. The spearheads had probably broken the bones in Clark’s hands and he was forced to pull them out. They were now completely at the mercy of the Aboriginal men. Yet just when they thought death was imminent the men began to walk away, and within minutes the hundred-strong group had retreated into the bush. Walking in ‘considerable pain’ for another ‘8 miles’ until they came to Bundarwa, the north arm of Jervis Bay, they were overtaken by the same group of Aboriginal men.20 This time, Clark was convinced ‘they intended to murder [them]’. Yet if this had really been the Wandandian’s intention, they surely would have killed them earlier. The superficial wounds they had inflicted on the party were most likely ritual markings brought on by their unlawful activities in Country. The closer they came to Sydney, the closer the party came to entering the territories of Aboriginal people who had received regular news of the deaths of so many of the Eora at Port Jackson from disease and violence, their lands taken by the British without their consent. Yet Clark’s fears proved totally unfounded. No spears were thrown. They were led to the Wandandian’s campsite and obliged to spend the night there, as would have occurred if they were Indigenous visitors. ‘Welcome to Country’ was not a handshake; ceremonies could often last several days. But Clark and Thompson knew none of this. Still fearful that they would be speared again, and with their wounds causing them distress, they were unable to sleep. Lying awake around the campfire that night, they wondered if this would be where their journey would end.

  When light broke the next morning, they left the campsite unimpeded, walking around the white-sand horseshoe arms of Jervis Bay. Although they were followed initially, by 9 a.m. they were finally on their own, their daily progress now significantly reduced by their injuries and debilitating fatigue. Because he had recorded how far they had walked each day in his journal, Clark knew they were now within striking distance of Sydney. If they could average roughly the same rate of progress or even slightly less from here on, they would reach Sydney in less than two weeks. Famished, they ate ‘wild plants’ as they had done for most of the latter part of the journey. While they were often shown the edible bush tucker by their Aborigina
l friends, when alone, they could have inadvertently picked ‘herbs’, fruits and flowers that were either poisonous or only meant to be consumed after sufficient preparation. Too exhausted to search far for drinking water, they drank ‘brackish water’, which only worsened their condition. Yet they staggered on, somehow managing to reach the massive banks of the Shoalhaven River on 30 April where, that evening, six Aboriginal men assisted them across in canoes.

  The party was now reduced to five: Clark and his Lascar manservant, Thompson, Bennet and the carpenter. Thompson had still not fully recovered from the incident at Tomakin, and his spear wounds only exacerbated his situation. The carpenter, frustrated by his inability to extract more food from the Aborigines, became increasingly agitated in his dealings with them. In their severely weakened state, the party could only walk a few kilometres each day. Day after day, beach after beach, the sound of the surf washed over them, each step harder than the next. The effort to continue each morning became greater, the delirium into which they were slowly being lulled making the temptation to halt almost irresistible. From here on, with his hands causing him too much pain to write more than a few words, Clark’s journal entries dropped off. Yet all five men walked on from Shoalhaven through Tharawal Country for ‘fifteen days’. The final journal entry seems almost uninterested, stating retrospectively that these days ‘were much the same’ as the rest. Perhaps the scale of the country through which they walked had finally overwhelmed him. After walking for two months—the stigmata on his palms a burning reminder of his passage through Aboriginal Australia—Clark cared only for deliverance.21

  For the next two weeks, as the night temperatures began to fall with the approach of winter, they managed to walk 100 kilometres. Given the state they were in, an average distance of 12 kilometres per day was a heroic rate of progress. On 15 May, shortly after they left Thirroul, Clark was surprised to find a small beach strewn with large chunks of coal. That night, they used it to make a roaring fire, its sustaining warmth sending them into a deep sleep and tempting them to rest for another day. Under extreme stress, the divisions between them had started to widen. The carpenter, ‘churlish and avaricious, and without sense or foresight’, often ‘seized [the Aborigines’] fish’, yet gave them ‘nothing in return’. On many occasions, his selfishness and insolence deeply ‘offended’ the Aboriginal people and foolishly placed all their lives at risk.22 Until now, Clark and Thompson had been able to keep the carpenter’s base instincts in check. But the weaker and more desperate they became, the will required to override his impatience and greed was harder to muster. The next day, as they entered what is now Royal National Park, south of Sydney, Thompson could go no farther. Aware that they were now less than three or four days’ walk from their destination, Clark reluctantly decided to leave him behind, telling him that they would send for help once they got to Sydney. The carpenter, also in a poor state, volunteered to remain with Thompson and ‘keep him company’. For Clark, the wrench of leaving the ‘amiable man’ he was so very ‘fond of’, and with whom he had journeyed for the last seven months, was excruciating. He did not trust the carpenter but nor could he bring himself to leave Thompson alone. Together with his loyal Lascar man-servant and seaman John Bennet, he continued on to Sydney clutching his journal and the letter that Hamilton had given Thompson two months earlier.23