As I passed them they endeavoured to impress upon my mind that one wife was enough for Miago, and that if he surrendered the other to Bennyyowlee they would assist him against the Murraymen.  I however resolved not to interfere in the business, and thus telling them I bent my steps to the other encampment.

DYING SCENE IN HIS TENT.

On my arrival I found poor Mulligo sinking fast; his two wives and his mother were watching by his side.  He just recognised me, and faintly and slowly said, “men-dyke boola nganya” (I am very ill.) The native women near him were much alarmed because he could not swallow, and to support him were slowly dropping water into his ear.  His last moment was evidently near at hand, and, after having felt his pulse and paid him a few little attentions, which always gratify them much, I turned away to examine the dispositions of the encampment.

I found that Miago’s hut was close to Mulligo’s, and he himself was present, ready to assert his right to the wives of his dying brother should anyone appear to dispute his claims; he was evidently well supported, for the Nagarnook family mustered strong around his hut, and the two half-brothers of one of the ladies in dispute were members of it.  Weyup, the half-brother of the other native girl, was also present, and therefore evidently favoured Miago’s cause.  They were all in anxious expectation of the return of Moorroongo, who had gone off with a party for the purpose of cutting spears, with which the friends of his stepson (Miago) might be able to act either offensively or defensively as circumstances should require.  As I conceived that there was every possibility of Mulligo’s having sufficient strength left to linger through the night, and as the evening was fast closing in, after a little casual conversation with the natives I returned home.

MOURNING WOMEN.  THEIR SONGS AND CEREMONIES.

June 15.

Soon after daybreak I reached the entrance of Mulligo’s hut:  he was alive but his respiration was scarcely visible.  His head rested on his mother’s knees, and her withered breasts now rested on his lips as she leant crying over him; other women were seated round, their heads all verging to a common centre over the wasted frame of the dying man; they were crying bitterly and scratching their cheeks, foreheads, and noses with their nails until the blood trickled slowly from the wounds.  The men in the front of the huts were busied in finishing off their spears, ready for the coming fight.

I stood for some time watching the mournful scene, but other native females soon began to arrive; they came up in small parties, generally by threes, marching slowly forward with their wan-nas (a long stick they use for digging up roots) in their hands; the eldest female walked first, and when they approached within about thirty or forty yards of the hut in which the dying man lay they raised the most piteous cries, and, hurrying their pace, moved rapidly towards the point where the other women were seated, recalling the custom alluded to by Jeremiah (9:17, 18) Call for the wailing women that they may come, and let them make haste, and take up a wailing for us, that our eyes may run down with tears, and our eyelids gush out with waters.