The Bunyip

The Bunyip

Long, long ago, far, far away on the other side of the world, some

young men left the camp where they lived to get some food for their

wives and children. The sun was hot, but they liked heat, and as they

went they ran races and tried who could hurl his spear the farthest, or

was cleverest in throwing a strange weapon called a boomerang, which

always returns to the thrower. They did not get on very fast at this

rate, but presently they reached a flat place that in time of flood was

full of water, but was now, in the height of summer, only a set of

pools, each surrounded with a fringe of plants, with bulrushes standing

in the inside of all. In that country the people are fond of the roots

of bulrushes, which they think as good as onions, and one of the young

men said that they had better collect some of the roots and carry them

back to the camp. It did not take them long to weave the tops of the

willows into a basket, and they were just going to wade into the water

and pull up the bulrush roots when a youth suddenly called out: “After

all, why should we waste our time in doing work that is only fit for

women and children? Let them come and get the roots for themselves; but

we will fish for eels and anything else we can get.”

This delighted the rest of the party, and they all began to arrange

their fishing lines, made from the bark of the yellow mimosa, and to

search for bait for their hooks. Most of them used worms, but one, who

had put a piece of raw meat for dinner into his skin wallet, cut off a

little bit and baited his line with it, unseen by his companions.

For a long time they cast patiently, without receiving a single bite;

the sun had grown low in the sky, and it seemed as if they would have

to go home empty-handed, not even with a basket of roots to show; when

the youth, who had baited his hook with raw meat, suddenly saw his line

disappear under the water. Something, a very heavy fish he supposed,

was pulling so hard that he could hardly keep his feet, and for a few

minutes it seemed either as if he must let go or be dragged into the

pool. He cried to his friends to help him, and at last, trembling with

fright at what they were going to see, they managed between them to

land on the bank a creature that was neither a calf nor a seal, but

something of both, with a long, broad tail. They looked at each other

with horror, cold shivers running down their spines; for though they

had never beheld it, there was not a man amongst them who did not know

what it was—the cub of the awful Bunyip!

All of a sudden the silence was broken by a low wail, answered by

another from the other side of the pool, as the mother rose up from her

den and came towards them, rage flashing from her horrible yellow eyes.

“Let it go! let it go!” whispered the young men to each other; but the

captor declared that he had caught it, and was going to keep it. “He

had promised his sweetheart,” he said, “that he would bring back enough

meat for her father’s house to feast on for three days, and though they

could not eat the little Bunyip, her brothers and sisters should have

it to play with.” So, flinging his spear at the mother to keep her

back, he threw the little Bunyip on to his shoulders, and set out for

the camp, never heeding the poor mother’s cries of distress.

By this time it was getting near sunset, and the plain was in shadow,

though the tops of the mountains were still quite bright. The youths

had all ceased to be afraid, when they were startled by a low rushing

sound behind them, and, looking round, saw that the pool was slowly

rising, and the spot where they had landed the Bunyip was quite

covered. “What could it be?” they asked one of another; “there was not

a cloud in the sky, yet the water had risen higher already than they

had ever known it do before.” For an instant they stood watching as if

they were frozen, then they turned and ran with all their might, the

man with the Bunyip running faster than all. When he reached a high

peak over-looking all the plain he stopped to take breath, and turned

to see if he was safe yet. Safe! why only the tops of the trees

remained above that sea of water, and these were fast disappearing.

They must run fast indeed if they were to escape. So on they flew,

scarcely feeling the ground as they went, till they flung themselves on

the ground before the holes scooped out of the earth where they had all

been born. The old men were sitting in front, the children were

playing, and the women chattering together, when the little Bunyip fell

into their midst, and there was scarcely a child among them who did not

know that something terrible was upon them. “The water! the water!”

gasped one of the young men; and there it was, slowly but steadily

mounting the ridge itself. Parents and children clung together, as if

by that means they could drive back the advancing flood; and the youth

who had caused all this terrible catastrophe, seized his sweetheart,

and cried: “I will climb with you to the top of that tree, and there no

waters can reach us.” But, as he spoke, something cold touched him, and

quickly he glanced down at his feet. Then with a shudder he saw that

they were feet no longer, but bird’s claws. He looked at the girl he

was clasping, and beheld a great black bird standing at his side; he

turned to his friends, but a flock of great awkward flapping creatures

stood in their place He put up his hands to cover his face, but they

were no more hands, only the ends of wings; and when he tried to speak,

a noise such as he had never heard before seemed to come from his

throat, which had suddenly become narrow and slender. Already the water

had risen to his waist, and he found himself sitting easily upon it,

while its surface reflected back the image of a black swan, one of

many.

Never again did the swans become men; but they are still different from

other swans, for in the night-time those who listen can hear them talk

in a language that is certainly not swan’s language; and there are even

sounds of laughing and talking, unlike any noise made by the swans whom

we know.

The little Bunyip was carried home by its mother, and after that the

waters sank back to their own channels. The side of the pool where she

lives is always shunned by everyone, as nobody knows when she may

suddenly put out her head and draw him into her mighty jaws. But people

say that underneath the black waters of the pool she has a house filled

with beautiful things, such as mortals who dwell on the earth have no

idea of. Though how they know I cannot tell you, as nobody has ever

seen it.

[From Journal of Anthropological-Institute.]