The Proclamation was read by George Stevenson, Hind-marsh’s secretary. The British flag was unfurled. Cannons fired a 21-gun royal salute.
The air rang with hurrahs as a lunch of cold pork and a ham was served. The Governor mounted a chair and announced the first toast, ‘The King.’ During the national anthem Lucy Bradshaw giggled as Osmond Gilles, the crown treasurer, already tanked with rum, gustily sang ‘God save George our King’, forgetting the salient fact that it was now a William who had been on the throne for six years.
‘Rule, Britannia’ was sung, and as evening descended more cannons were fired.
In all the excitement, only Albert Taplow took notice of the part in the Proclamation, which declared that the Governor ‘would take every lawful means to secure to the Aborigines the rights of British subjects.’
The said ‘Aborigines’, who watched from various hiding points, ran away in terror every time they heard the deafening salutes. Even the Wirra sorcerers could not produce such thunder on demand. For Harriet Gouger, the reverberations heralded the start of labour. At dawn, she gave birth. Gouger happily wrote, ‘My wife gave the new province a son! He is claimed by the Governor as his godson, as being the first child born in the colony, after the establishment of the Government.’ The baby was aptly christened Henry Hindmarsh.
Governor Hindmarsh charged Robert Thomas to print the new proclamation, and ordered his marines to carry the printing press to a hut built for the purpose. The rainbow lorikeets quickly found a new perch on Mrs Hindmarsh’s piano.
In his continued race against time, Light eschewed the formalities of the Governor’s landing, and walked the six miles inland to check out his proposed site for Adelaide. He decided that’s where it would be, writing, ‘Nature has done so much that very little human labour and cost is requisite to make this one of the finest settlements in the whole world.’
Midlato and Milte-widlo wandered around the edge of the camps, gazing curiously at all the paraphernalia these white people possessed. Midlato saw Lucy carrying a strange long contraption that opened up into a beautiful picture over her head. ‘Parasol.’ said the white girl, laughing at the expression on Midlato’s face. Midlato noticed this ‘parasol’ shaded her pale face. Charles Moon, a sailor from the Buffalo, beckoned Milte-widlo to come aboard his ship.
‘No!’ Midlato screamed in panic. ‘Don’t go, you will never come back. They will take you to the land of the dead.’
After a great deal of gesticulation, Milte-widlo was finally coaxed on board, leaving two bemused whites behind as hostages. Midlato watched and waited anxiously. It seemed an eternity before she saw him tottering back. His foolish grin convinced Midlato that white-skins had taken away his senses.
‘Fire-water, we drank fire-water. It was so good and the food – excellent.’ Milte-widlo rubbed his belly in great satisfaction.
Midlato’s kammammi was not amused when her grandson came lurching back to the wardli. She shook her head sadly. She didn’t like the way he smelt.
‘They were nice, very nice. They have so many things; such wonderful food, such excellent fire-water. They are our long-lost brothers and together we will be so happy.’
His grandmother did not share his gushing enthusiasm. She knew Milte-widlo was young and impetuous and easily swayed. She didn’t like the way his eyes rolled. She hadn’t reckoned on this ‘fire-water’. She recoiled from the notion and had a premonition that it would be very bad for the future of her people. She felt old and weary as she looked into the fire and sighed, ‘Hmmph!’
Over the next few days, in relentless heat, Light had to endure opposition to his proposal for where Adelaide should lie. The corpulent Hindmarsh, puffing and huffing to the site, (no horse-drawn carriages here!) complained that it was too far from the sea. ‘My good man, Britain is a maritime empire – unheard of to have a city so far from the sea.’ Settlers meanwhile baked in their tents and waited while the worthies argued. Light attempted to compromise by suggesting they place the city closer to the coast, but after observing signs that the river flooded there, reverted to his original decision, much to Hindmarsh’s annoyance. James Hurtle Fisher supported Light, if only to oppose Hindmarsh’s authority. As resident commissioner, he appointed the South Australian Light and his surveyor Finniss to set up their camp at a spot by the river, just west of the Tandanya rock. More ships arrived. Flies and insects and exotic creepy-crawlies became even more bothersome. Of the flies, Gouger wrote, ‘Nothing can equal their cruel perseverance.’ Ann Finniss, after surviving gruelling months at sea and a sandy flyblown tent, graced the new colony with the first birth for the year of 1837. Wife and child were trundled six miles in a whicker boat on wheels, to where Finiss had set up his survey tent.
So, by natural increase as well as immigration, Wakefield’s South Australia started to grow. But immediately ahead lay trouble.
Ityamai-itpina came back from hunting, and listened to Milte-widlo’s excited babble. He decided to check things out for himself. He tentatively pushed open the door of the new storehouse and saw three white men. Albert Taplow was showing George Stevenson the huge stock of seeds he had organised. Albert spied the black man and beckoned him in. He was delighted to be in close proximity to such a fierce looking warrior, daubed with paint and except for his yudna, naked. Ityamai-itpina put down his spear and gazed around the store, agog with wonder. He espied a blue jacket with shiny buttons and yellow cuffs. Albert approached him, and much to his surprise started shaking his hand. After quite a lot of shaking Albert kept pointing at the black man’s hand and it took a while for Ityamai-itpina to realise he wanted to know the Kaurna word for hand. Ityamaiitpina wasn’t sure he should tell him. The metal buttons glinted so seductively that he finally uttered, ‘marra.’ ‘Marra,’ repeated George Stevenson, who came forward and started shaking his ‘marra’ vigorously. ‘I’m George.’ As well as being Hindmarsh’s secretary he had also been appointed first interim Aboriginal Protector, so thought he’d better get acquainted with these ‘savages’, as he preferred to call them.
‘Joj,’ Ityamai-itpina smiled, displaying ‘a mouthful of the finest teeth’ Stevenson had ever seen.
‘You?’ George pointed at him.
‘Ityamai-itpina.’
‘It... what? I tell you what I’m going to call you Rodney. King Rodney.’
Ityamai-itpina looked blank and started touching the shiny buttons on the jacket in wonder. George coaxed him to put it on, and also some trousers.
‘I’m going to introduce King Rodney to our civilised ways,’ announced George. ‘Now that he is decently dressed.’ He led Ityamai-itpina out of the storehouse and guided him towards his ship, the Buffalo. Ityamai-itpina was wary – was this just a ploy? Was the white-skin trying to trap him? He signalled that he would only go to the ship if he could return. Albert, who was following, nodded that he understood and performed an elaborate mime to show how Ityamai-itpina could go on to the ship and then come back again. The black man liked Albert. He wasn’t so sure about ‘Joj.’ Albert looked directly into his eyes, which he found reassuring. When they reached the ship, Ityamai-itpina jumped at the sight of a strange animal on the prow.
‘A buffalo,’ explained Albert, laughing, miming a buffalo with horns. The black