An emu with very long wings once made her home in the sky. One day
she looked over the edge of the clouds, and down on the earth she saw a
great gathering of birds dancing by a reed-grown lagoon. High in a
gumtree the bell birds were making sweet music with their silvery
chimes; the kookaburra, perched on the limb of a dead tree, was
chuckling pleasantly to himself; while the native companion danced
gracefully on the grass nearby.
The emu was very interested in dancing, so she flew down from her
home beyond the clouds, and asked the birds if they would teach her to
dance. A cunning old native companion replied: "We shall be very pleased
to teach you our dances, but you could never learn with such long
wings. If you like, we will clip them for you." The emu did not give
much thought to the fact that short wings would never carry her home
again. So great was her vanity that she allowed her wings to be clipped
very short. When she had done so, the native companions immediately
spread their long wings-which they had previously concealed by folding
them close against their backs-and flew away, leaving the emu lonely and
wiser than before. She never returned to her home in the sky, because
her wings would not grow again. They have remained short and useless
ever since. This is the reason why emus run very fast, but never fly.
After wandering alone for a long time the emu reconciled herself to a
home on the earth, and reared a large family. One day she was walking
through the bush when the native companion-who also had a large
family-saw her in the distance. The native companion immediately hid all
her chicks in the undergrowth, except one; then she approached the emu
in a friendly manner, and said: "What a very weary life you must have
feeding such a large family. You are looking very ill, and I am sure you
will die. I have only one chick. Take my advice and kill your chicks
before they kill you." The foolish emu again listened to the soft words
of the other bird, and destroyed all her chicks.
Thereupon the native companion called in a low, sweet voice, "Geralka
Beralka, Geralka Beralka," and all her fluffy little chicks came
running to her from the bushes in which she had hidden them. The emu was
frantic with grief when she realised what she had done; but once again
she paid the price of vanity and idle flattery with a sad and lonely
heart. The native companion was so eager to call her chicks after the
cruel trick she had played on the emu that she twisted her neck, and
lost her beautiful voice for ever. And now she can call with only two
harsh, discordant sounds.
The seasons passed, and once again the emu had a big clutch of eggs.
One day the native companion paid her a visit and pretended to be
friendly, but the sight of her old enemy made the emu very angry. The
emu made a savage rush at her, but the native companion hopped over her
back and broke all the eggs except one. After dancing around for a
little while, the native companion made a determined rush, and, seizing
the remaining egg, threw it up into the sky.
http://www.sacred-texts.com/aus/mla/mla15.htm
Many years ago, Mirram the kangaroo and Warreen the wombat were both
men. They were very friendly, and hunted and lived together in the same
camping-ground. Warreen had a very comfortable gunyah made of bark and
soft leaves, but Mirram who was a careless fellow-did not trouble to
build a home. He was content to sleep in the open, by the side of a big
fire, with the blue sky for a cover, and the green grass for a couch.
This open air life was very nice in fine weather, when the stars
twinkled in the sky like golden fire-flies, but it was extremely
uncomfortable in the rainy season.
Ore night a great storm arose. The wind howled eerily, and rocked the
tall trees to and fro as though they were shaken by the strong arms of
an invisible giant. The rain fell in torrents, and darkness covered the
light of the stars. The rain quickly quenched the glowing embers of
Mirram's fire, and he was left to the mercy of the storm. After
shivering in the cold for some time, he decided to seek the hospitality
of Warreen. "Surely my friend would not refuse me shelter on such a
night as this," he thought. "I will ask him."
Feeling very cold and miserable, he crept to the opening of Warreen's
tent, and seeing there was sufficient space for both of them to sleep
comfortably, he woke him and said: "The storm has killed my fire. I am
very wet, and the cold wind has chilled me to the bone. May I sleep in
the corner of your tent?" Warreen blinked his eyes sleepily and answered
in a gruff voice: "No. I want to place my head in that corner. There
isn't any room." With this rude remark he moved into the corner, but, as
he could not occupy the whole space of the tent, another corner became
vacant. Mirram went away and sat by the wet ashes of his fire, and his
thoughts were as miserable as the weather. The fury of the storm
increased, and looking anxiously at the rainproof gunyah of his friend,
he decided to approach Warreen again. He entered the shelter, and,
touching Warreen gently on the shoulder, said: "The wind is very cold,
and as biting as the teeth of the wild dog. The rain is falling heavily
and will not cease. I should be grateful if you would allow me to sleep
in that corner. I will not disturb you." Warreen raised his head,
listened to the moaning of the storm outside, and then replied: "I will
not have you here; there isn't any room. Go outside and do not keep
waking me." "But," replied Mirram, "there is room in that corner. Surely
you wouldn't drive me out into the storm to die!"
Thereupon, Warreen moved one leg into the corner and again a space
became vacant. Seeing he could no longer hoodwink Mirram and hide from
him his selfish intentions, he grew very angry and yelled: "Get out! Get
out! I won't have you in my tent. I don't care where you die." This
harsh treatment exasperated Mirram and he left the tent in a terrible
rage. Outside the tent, he groped around in the dark until he found a
large flat stone. Then he crept silently to the gunyah. By the sound of
heavy breathing he knew Warreen was asleep. Moving very silently, he
entered the tent, and, raising the stone high in his arms, dashed it on
the head of the sleeper. The terrible blow did not kill Warreen but
flattened his forehead. When he had recovered from his pained surprise,
he heard the mocking voice of Mirram saying: "That is your reward for
treating a friend so cruelly. You and your children and their children's
children will wander through the land with flat foreheads that men may
know them for your selfishness." As Warreen was no match for his
opponent, he did not answer, but nursed his sore head and some very bad
thoughts. From that moment, he was always planning revenge for his
injury.
Some time later, Warreen was hunting in the forest, and, through the
shadow of the trees, he saw Mirram a short distance ahead. He crept
noiselessly towards him, and, when Mirram was looking for the marks of a
possum on the bark of a tree, he threw a spear at him with all his
strength. The spear struck Mirram at the bottom of the back, and so
deeply did it enter that he could not pull it out. While he was
struggling with the spear, Warreen walked up to him, and, in a bantering
voice, said: "Aha! My turn has come at last. I have waited long to
repay you. You will always carry the spear in your back and wander
without a home while you live. Your children will carry the spear and be
homeless for ever. By these tokens, men will always remember your
attempt to kill me while I slept."
From that time the kangaroo has had a long tail, which makes a low,
thudding sound as he wanders homeless through the bush, and the wombat
still has a very flat forehead as an everlasting sign of selfishness.
http://www.sacred-texts.com/aus/mla/mla14.htm
Alone, on a rocky ridge high in the mountains, a wallaroo made his
camping-ground beneath the shady boughs of a mountain ash. He was very
old and infirm, and too weak to hunt for food, so he sat by his camp
fire all the day and lashed the ground with his strong tail. The low,
rhythmic thud-thud-thud of its beating could be heard above the song of
the birds. One day a paddymelon was passing close by the camp when he
heard the beating of the wallaroo's tail. After following the direction
of the sound, he came to the camp, and asked the wallaroo if he was in
trouble. "I am very sick," the wallaroo replied. "Many times have I seen
the snow on the mountains, and I am growing too old to hunt. My
brothers have gone to the river beyond the hills to spear fish for me,
but they have not returned, and I am very hungry." The paddymelon was
sorry for the old wallaroo, and offered to go to the river in search of
the fishermen. He walked a short distance from the camp when the
wallaroo, called after him: "You had better take my boomerang with you,
as you may meet some game on your way." The paddymelon turned around and
said: "All right, I shall take it. Throw it to me!" The crafty wallaroo
picked up the boomerang, and, taking careful aim, threw it with all his
strength. It struck the unfortunate paddymelon a terrible blow and
killed him. The wallaroo took the fur from the dead animal and prepared
the body for cooking. He dug a hole in the ground, lined it with stones,
placed the meat in it, and covered it with flat stones. He then built a
fire over it, and in a short time had cooked a tasty meal.
When the paddymelon did not return home, his relatives became very
anxious about him. At last an iguana offered to go in search of the
missing member of the tribe. He followed the tracks of the paddymelon
through the bush, and they led to the camp of the wallaroo. When the
iguana approached the camp the wallaroo was beating his tail on the
ground. The iguana asked him if he needed any assistance, and, in a
plaintive voice, the wallaroo told him the same tale that had been told
to the unlucky paddymelon. The iguana was sorry for the old wallaroo,
and offered to seek his relatives for him and tell them of his plight.
When he turned to go, the wallaroo asked him if he would take a spear
with him in case he met with any game on his way. The iguana said, "I
will take it; throw it to me." The wallaroo had been waiting for this
opportunity, and he hurled the spear so swiftly that it transfixed the
iguana before he could jump aside. The wallaroo then prepared another
meal as before.
One day passed, and yet another, but the iguana did not return to the
hunting ground of his tribe. They sent a bandicoot in search of the
iguana, but he met the same fate at the hands of the wallaroo. After
waiting anxiously for the return of the bandicoot, the head-men of the
tribe called a great council. When all the members were assembled
together a headman said: "Many moons ago our brother the paddymelon left
the camp before the sun was over the hills, and when night came he did
not return, and his shadow has not darkened the ground for many days.
The iguana went in search of him. He is a great hunter, but he has not
returned. Yesterday the bandicoot followed in their tracks, but I fear
the shadow of death has fallen over them. We must find them." Many
suggestions were placed before the council, but none of them seemed
practical. Then the willy-wagtail, who was a clever medicine man, spoke:
"Long have we waited for the return of our brothers, and yet we do not
hear their call. I shall follow their footsteps even to the shadowy
hunting ground of death, but I shall return to you." The council
consented to the willy-wagtail's proposal, but they were afraid that he
would walk to the Land of Silence and never return.
Before dawn the willy-wagtail started on his dangerous and lonely
journey. When he reached the summit of the mountain, he could see, far
in the distance, the grey smoke of the camp fires wreathing slowly above
the trees. With a sad but brave heart he continued his journey. After
travelling for some time he heard the sound of the wallaroo beating his
tail on the ground. At first he thought it was a wallaroo hopping
through the bush, but, as the sound did not grow louder or fainter, he
became suspicious, and approached the camp very cautiously. The wallaroo
saw him approaching, and, calling to him, told him the same story as
before. The willy-wagtail offered to seek his relatives for him, and,
with this intention, started on his way. When he had gone a short
distance the wallaroo offered him a boomerang. The willy-wagtail was
very suspicious about his intention, and said: "Throw it to me; it will
save me the trouble of walking back to the tree."
The wallaroo then threw the weapon with all his strength, but the
willy-wagtail was prepared, and, as soon as the boomerang left the hand
of the thrower, he jumped quickly aside. When the wallaroo saw he had
missed his mark, and that his evil intentions were known to the
willy-wagtail, he became furious, and threw all his spears and
nullanullas at him, but failed to strike him. Then the willy-wagtail
took the boomerang and threw it at the old wallaroo. It struck him a
heavy blow on the chest and killed him. He then skinned him, and
prepared to cook his flesh, but he was too old and tough to eat. He now
took the skin and returned to the camp. When he told the tribe of the
fate of their brothers they were sorely grieved, but their grief was
turned to joy when the willy-wagtail showed them the skin of their
enemy. The wagtail was rewarded by being made a headman of the tribe.
The headmen now decided that blackfellows should never travel alone.
As a mark of remembrance, wallaroos have always had a strip of white fur
on their breasts. It is an indication of the boomerang wound that
killed the old wallaroo of Mountain Ridge.
http://www.sacred-texts.com/aus/mla/mla13.htm
The Flying Fox and the Striped-tail Lizard were friends. They lived
in the same gunyah and hunted together. One day the lizard said: "I will
visit a tribe of blacks with whom I am very friendly, and bring back a
bundle of spears." The fox was very doubtful about the truth of the
lizard's remarks, and said: "I would not like to wait for food until you
get the spears." This annoyed the lizard, and, without replying, he set
out on his journey. He wandered through the bush all day, but failed to
find the blacks. He then followed the winding river for many miles, but
without success. Towards nightfall, a storm swept down from the
mountains; the wind howled eerily through the swaying trees, and the
rain fell in torrents. The lizard was in a sorry plight. Weary and wet,
he wandered through the bush and at last arrived at his gunyah. The door
was closed, and, when he asked the fox to open it, the fox asked a
question. "Have you any spears with you?" he called. Now the lizard knew
that if the fox was aware of his unsuccessful journey, he would make
great fun of it, so he replied: "I have a big bundle of spears. I met my
friends at the in the land that lies beyond the sunset. Many dangers
are there, O my brother. The evil spirits sing soft and low through the
trees, like the voice of a maiden calling to her lover, and he who
follows the sound of the voices goes on for ever, and never returns. The
great Black Bat waits for you in the forest. You are weary with your
long journey. Stay with us and rest you awhile; then you can return to
your tribe."
Yoonecara was very pleased with the friendly reception he received,
but he could not be dissuaded from his journey, and, after bidding them
farewell, he continued on his way. Through the trees he could hear the
voices of the Dheeyabry people calling to him to return, but he would
not heed them. As he journeyed on, the voices grew fainter and fainter
until they were lost in the great silence.
After leaving the Dheeyabry, Yoonecara travelled many days and
arrived at a place where the March flies and mosquitoes were larger and
more numerous than any he had seen before. The buzzing of the mosquitoes
was like the sound of the bullroarer. They attacked him savagely, and,
try as he would, he could not escape them. When he attempted to sleep,
they settled on him in swarms and tormented him with their stings. In
desperation, Yoonecara sat by a waterhole and built a fire. Then he
considered his dangerous position. "If I cannot protect myself from
these insects," he reflected, "my bones will soon be gleaming white in
the sun. I have travelled far, but the journey is beyond the strength of
man. I will return to my tribe." These were the thoughts passing
through his mind. He then considered ways and means whereby he could
protect himself against the mosquitoes, and at last discovered an
excellent plan. He stripped a sheet of bark from a tree. It was as long
as himself and of sufficient width to enclose his body. After tying
bushes around his ankles and head, he doubled the bark around his body.
With this protection, he journeyed through the Land of the Giant
Mosquitoes. And, when he had no further use for his covering of bark he
placed it in a waterhole in order to keep it soft, that he might use it
on his return journey. After he had braved this danger, his courage
returned, and he travelled on.
For some time, his journey was without adventure, but one day he came
to the edge of a great boggy marsh known as Kolliworoogla. At the sight
of this marsh, he thought further progress was impossible. After
carefully examining the edge of the swamp, he discovered what appeared
to be the trunk of a fallen tree that lay across it. He ventured along
this dangerous bridge and safely reached the far side of the swamp. He
then came to a place where there was a very high rock, which was
hollowed out on one side like a cave. On approaching it, he found that
it was a cave, and in it he could see his ancestor Byama, asleep. At
last, Yoonecara had reached his long journey's end. Byama was a man of
giant proportions-much bigger than the blackfellows of the present time.
At the front of the cave, one of Byama's daughters, Byallaburragan, was
sitting at a fire roasting a carpet snake. She offered a portion to the
traveller, and said: "Long and weary has been your journey, O faithful
one, and many the dangers that crossed your path. Like the light of the
sun was the fire of your courage, and this shall be your reward. Your
name shall be passed through the ages on the tongues of our people. You
shall be honored as the only man who travelled to the home of Byama, and
returned; for no man shall ever do the like again."
Around Byama's dwelling the country was very beautiful, and was a
dream of delight to the weary traveller. The tall, green trees leaned
towards the cave, and their leafy branches gave cool shade on the
hottest day, while the song of the birds at sunset was like a mother
crooning her baby to sleep. The grass grew high on the plains, and, when
the wind blew, it billowed like the waves of the sea. In front of the
cave, a stream of water, clear as crystal, ran its course to a deep
lagoon. The water of the lagoon teemed with fish, and in the reeds,
there were many ducks, swans, and other water-fowl.
After he had rested for some time in this pleasant land, Yoonecara
returned to his own tribe and related his wonderful experiences. Soon
after his return he died, and, since that time, no man has travelled to
the Land of the Setting Sun.
http://www.sacred-texts.com/aus/mla/mla12.htm
One day, a crow and a hawk hunted together in the bush. After
travelling together for some time, they decided to hunt in opposite
directions, and, at the close of the day, to share whatever game they
had caught. The crow travelled against the sun, and at noonday arrived
at a broad lagoon which was the haunt of the wild ducks. The crow hid in
the tall green reeds fringing the lagoon, and prepared to trap the
ducks. First, he got some white clay, and, having softened it with
water, placed two pieces in his nostrils. He then took a long piece of
hollow reed through which he could breathe under water, and finally tied
a net bag around his waist in which to place the ducks.
On the still surface of the lagoon, the tall gum trees were reflected
like a miniature forest. The ducks, with their bronze plumage
glistening in the sun, were swimming among the clumps of reeds, and only
paused to dive for a tasty morsel hidden deep in the water weeds. The
crow placed the reed in his mouth, and, without making any sound, waded
into the water. He quickly submerged himself, and the only indication of
his presence in the lagoon, was a piece of dry reed which projected
above the surface of the water, and through which the crow was
breathing. When he reached the centre of the water hole he remained
perfectly still. He did not have to wait long for the ducks to swim
above his head. Then, without making any sound or movement, he seized
one by the leg, quickly pulled it beneath the water, killed it, and
placed it in the net bag. By doing this, he did not frighten the other
ducks, and, in a short time he had trapped a number of them. He then
left the lagoon and continued on his way until he came to a river.
The crow was so pleased with his success at the waterhole, that he
determined to spear some fish before he returned to his camp. He left
the bag of ducks on the bank of the river, and, taking his fish spear,
he waded into the river until the water reached his waist. Then he stood
very still, with the spear poised for throwing. A short distance from
the spot where he was standing, a slight ripple disturbed the calm
surface of the water. With the keen eye of the hunter, he saw the
presence of fish, and, with a swift movement of his arm, he hurled the
spear, and his unerring aim was rewarded with a big fish. The water was
soon agitated by many fish, and the crow took advantage of this to spear
many more. With this heavy load of game, he turned his face towards
home.
The hawk was very unfortunate in his hunting. He stalked a kangaroo
many miles, and then lost sight of it in the thickly wooded hills. He
then decided to try the river for some fish, but the crow had made the
water muddy and frightened the fish, so again he was unsuccessful. At
last the hawk decided to return to his gunyah with the hope that the
crow would secure some food, which they had previously agreed to share.
When the hawk arrived, he found that the crow had been there before him
and had prepared and eaten his evening meal. He at once noticed that the
crow had failed to leave a share for him. This annoyed the hawk, so he
approached the crow and said: "I see you have had a good hunt to-day. I
walked many miles but could not catch even a lizard. I am tired and
would be glad to have my share of food, as we agreed this morning." "You
are too lazy," the crow replied. "You must have slept in the sun
instead of hunting for food. Anyhow, I've eaten mine and cannot give you
any." This made the hawk very angry, and he attacked the crow. For a
long time they struggled around the dying embers of the camp fire, until
the hawk seized the crow and rolled him in the black ashes. When the
crow recovered from the fight, he found that he could not wash the ashes
off, and, since that time, crows have always been black. The crow was
also punished for hiding the food which he could not eat by being
condemned to live on putrid flesh.
http://www.sacred-texts.com/aus/mla/mla11.htm
Rolla-Mano was the old man of the sea. The blue ocean, with all its
wonderful treasures of glistening pearls, white foam and pink coral,
belonged to him. In the depths of the sea, he ruled a kingdom of shadows
and strange forms, to which the light of the sun descended in green and
grey beams. The forests of this weird land were many trees of brown
sea-kelp, whose long arms waved slowly to and fro with the ebb and flow
of the water. Here and there were patches of sea grass, fine and soft as
a snow maiden's hair. In the shadow of the trees lurked a thousand
terrors of the deep. In a dark rocky cave, a giant octopus spread its
long, writhing tentacles in search of its prey, and gazed the while
through the water with large lustreless eyes. In and out of the kelp a
grey shark swam swiftly and without apparent motion, while
bright-colored fish darted out of the path of danger. Across the rippled
sand a great crab ambled awkwardly to its hiding place behind a
white-fluted clam shell. And over all waved the long, brown arms of the
sea kelp forest. Such was the kingdom of Rolla-Mano, the old man of the
sea.
One day Rolla-Mano went to fish in a lonely mangrove swamp close to
the sea shore. He caught many fish, and cooked them at a fire. While
eating his meal he noticed two women approach him. Their beautiful
bodies were as lithe and graceful as the wattle tree, and in their eyes
was the soft light of the dusk. When they spoke, their voices were as
sweet and low as the sighing of the night breeze through the reeds in
the river.
Rolla-Mano determined to capture them. With this intention he
hid in the branches of the mangrove tree, and, when the women were
close to him he threw his net over them. One, however, escaped by diving
into the water. He was so enraged at her escape that he jumped in after
her with a burning fire stick in his hand.
As soon as the fire stick
touched the water, the sparks hissed and scattered to the sky, where
they remain as golden stars to this day.
Rolla-Mano did not capture the woman who dived into the dark waters
of the swamp. After a fruitless search he returned to the shore and took
the other woman to live with him for ever in the sky. She is the
evening star. From her resting place, she gazes through the mists of
eternity at the restless sea-the dark, mysterious kingdom of Rolla-Mano.
On a clear summer night, when the sky is studded with golden stars, you
will remember that they are the sparks from the fire stick of
Rolla-Mano, and the beautiful evening star is the woman he captured in
the trees of the mangrove swamp.
http://www.sacred-texts.com/aus/mla/mla10.htm
In the dream-time, a terrible drought swept across the land. The
leaves of the trees turned brown and fell from the branches, the flowers
drooped their heads and died, and the green grass withered as though
the spirit from the barren mountain had breathed upon it with a breath
of fire. When the hot wind blew, the dead reeds rattled in the river
bed, and the burning sands shimmered like a silver lagoon.
All the water had left the rippling creeks, and deep, still water
holes. In the clear blue sky the sun was a mass of molten gold; the
clouds no longer drifted across the hills, and the only darkness that
fell across the land was the shadow of night and death.
After many had died of thirst, all the animals in the land met
together in a great council to discover the cause of the drought. They
travelled many miles. Some came from the bush, and others from the
distant mountains.
The sea-birds left their homes in the cliffs where the white surf
thundered, and flew without resting many days and nights. When they all
arrived at the chosen meeting place in Central Australia, they
discovered that a frog of enormous size had swallowed all the water in
the land, and thus caused the drought. After much serious discussion, it
was decided that the only way to obtain the water again was to make the
frog laugh. The question now arose as to which animal should begin the
performance, and, after a heated argument, the pride of place was given
to the Kookaburra.
The animals then formed themselves into a huge circle with the frog
in the centre. Red kangaroos, grey wallaroos, rock and swamp wallabies,
kangaroo rats, bandicoots, native bears and ring-tailed possums all sat
together. The emu and the native companion forgot their quarrel and the
bell bird his chimes. Even a butcher bird looked pleasantly at a brown
snake, and the porcupine forgot to bristle. A truce had been called in
the war of the bush.
Now, the Kookaburra, seated himself on the limb of a tree, and, with a
wicked twinkle in his eye, looked straight at the big, bloated frog,
ruffled his brown feathers, and began to laugh. At first, he made a low
gurgling sound deep in his throat, as though he was smiling to himself,
but gradually he raised his voice and laughed louder and louder until
the bush re-echoed with the sound of his merriment. The other animals
looked on with very serious faces, but the frog gave no sign. He just
blinked his eyes and looked as stupid as only a frog can look.
The Kookaburra continued to laugh until he nearly choked and fell off
the tree, but all without success. The next competitor was a
frill-lizard. It extended the frill around its throat, and, puffing out
its jaws, capered up and down. But there was no humor in the frog; he
did not even look at the lizard, and laughter was out of the question.
It was then suggested that the dancing of the native companion might
tickle the fancy of the frog. So the native companion danced until she
was tired, but all her graceful and grotesque figures failed to arouse
the interest of the frog.
The position was very serious, and the council of animals was at its
wits' end for a reasonable suggestion. In their anxiety to solve the
difficulty, they all spoke at once, and the din was indescribable. Above
the noise could be heard a frantic cry of distress. A carpet snake was
endeavoring to swallow a porcupine. The bristles had stuck in his
throat, and a kookaburra, who had a firm grip of his tail, was making an
effort to fly away with him.
Close by, two bandicoots were fighting over the possession of a sweet
root, but, while they were busily engaged in scratching each other, a
possum stole it. They then forgot their quarrel and chased the possum,
who escaped danger by climbing a tree and swinging from a branch by his
tail. In this peculiar position he ate the root at his leisure, much to
the disgust of the bandicoots below.
After peace and quiet had been restored, the question of the drought
was again considered. A big eel, who lived in a deep water hole in the
river, suggested that he should be given an opportunity of making the
frog laugh. Many of the animals laughed at the idea, but, in despair,
they agreed to give him a trial. The eel then began to wriggle in front
of the frog. At first he wriggled slowly, then faster and faster until
his head and tail met. Then he slowed down and wriggled like a snake
with the shivers. After a few minutes, he changed his position, and
flopped about like a well-bitten grub on an ant bed.
The frog opened his sleepy eyes, his big body quivered, his face
relaxed, and, at last, he burst into a laugh that sounded like rolling
thunder. The water poured from his mouth in a flood. It filled the
deepest rivers and covered the land. Only the highest mountain peaks
were visible, like islands in the sea. Many men and animals were
drowned.
The pelican-who was a blackfellow at this time -sailed from island to
island in a great canoe and rescued any blackfellow he saw. At last he
came to an island on which there were many people. In their midst he saw
a beautiful woman, and f ell in love with her. He rescued all the men
on this island until the woman alone remained. Every time he made a
journey she would ask him to take her with the men, but he would reply:
"There are many in the canoe. I will carry you next time." He did this
several times, and at last the woman guessed that he was going to take
her to his camp. She then determined to escape from the pelican. While
he was away, she wrapped a log in her possum rug, and placed it near the
gunyah; then, as the flood was subsiding, she escaped to the bush. When
he returned, he called to her, but, receiving no answer, he walked over
to the possum rug and touched it with his foot. It, however, did not
move. He then tore the rug away from what he supposed was a woman, but,
when he found a log, he was very angry, and resolved to be revenged. He
painted himself with white clay, and set out to look for the other
blackfellows, with the intention of killing them. But the first pelican
he met was so frightened by his strange appearance, that it struck him
with a club and killed him. Since that time pelicans have been black and
white in remembrance of the Great Flood.
The flood gradually subsided, and the land was again clothed in the
green garments of spring. Through the tall green reeds the voice of the
night wind whispered soft music to the river. And, when the dawn came
from the eastern sky, the birds sang a song of welcome to the new
flood-a flood of golden sunlight.
http://www.sacred-texts.com/aus/mla/mla09.htm
