It brought home sweet home to each of the exiles, so vividly that all sat still and transfixed, and as the last chord of the orchestra “I trembled away into silence,” Yellowby, panting and sweating, gasped as he fell flat on the sand—­“No good you fella corrobboree like that fella, belonga me fella.”  But for the collapse of the orchestra, due to his own inimitable art, he would have danced till dawn.

A SONG WITHOUT WORDS

Mickie is a famous vocalist, although his repertoire is limited.  He sings lustily and with no little art, putting considerable expression into his phrases, and ever and anon taking a sharp but studied rest to increase his emphasis, when he will burst forth again with full-throated ease.  His masterpiece is not original.  Indeed he claims no title to the gifts of a composer.  “Jacky,” a Mackay boy, taught Mickie his favourite romance, and it came to Jacky in a dream.  Mickie explains—­ “Cousin alonga that fella die.  Jacky go to sleep.  That fella dead man all a same like debil-debil—­come close up and tell ’em corrobboree close up ear belonga Jacky.”

“What that debil-debil say?”

Mickie—­“No talk—­that fella.  Just tell ’em corrobboree.  No talk.”

It was just a song without words—­the final phrases being three guttural gasps, diluendo, which Mickie says represent the wail of the “debil-debil” as he retires into the obscurity of spirit-land.

Mickie sings this song of inspiration most vigorously, when Jinny, his portly spouse, comes to “wash ’em plate” in the evening, and she explains with a fat chuckle—­“Mickie corrobboree loud fella.  He fright.  He think subpose he corrobboree blenty debil-debil no come up.”

ORIGIN OF THE SOUTHERN CROSS

Blacks are students of natural events.  The winds have their specific titles, and they catalogue all the brighter and more conspicuous stars and planets, while their astronomical legends are quaint and entertaining.

According to Mickie, the Southern Cross is of earthly origin.  He thus “repeats the story of its birth.”

“You see that fella.  That one me call ’em dooey-dooey—­all a same shubel-nose shark, like that fella you bin shoot longa lagoon.  Two fella, more big, come close up behind dooey-dooey, two fella black boy.  Black boys bin fishing alonga reef close up alonga where red mark, alonga Cape Marlow—­you know.  They bin sit down alonga canoe.  Bi’mby spear ’em that dooey-dooey—­beeg fella, my word!  That dooey-dooey when catch ’em spear he go down quick, come up under canoe capsize ’em.  Two fella boy swim about long time by that reef; no catch ’em that canoe.  Swim; swim l-o-n-g way; no catch ’em beach; go outside; follow canoe all time.  One fella say—­’Brother, where we now?’ ’Long way yet.  Swim more far, brother.’  Bi’mby two fella talk—­’Where now, brother?’ ’Long way outside.  Magnetic close up now.  We two fella swim more long way.  Bi’mby catch ’em Barrier.’  One fella catch ’em hand—­’Come along, brother, youn-me go outside.’