Join us at the campfire for tales from around the world, told by storytellers of all backgrounds and creeds. From the heros and heroines of old, let us relearn and rediscover the wisdom of our ancestors. Shhh..the story begins..
Many, many years ago, when the continent of Australia was inhabited only by those known as the Aborigines, there once lived a young duck who used to love the solitude of swimming all alone in the big creek by her noorumba...her hereditary hunting ground. The young duck's tribe cautioned her about such behavior and told her that if she persisted, she would surely be caught some day by Mulloka, the evil water devil, but she cared little for their warnings and refused to listen to their advice.
One day, having swum a very long distance along the creek, she landed upon a bank where she saw a carpet of sweet green grass, newly sprung from the ground. The duck was feeding and savoring the fresh flavor of the young shoots when suddenly Biggoon, a huge water rat, rushed out from his hiding place and seized her.
The duck struggled, but it was all in vain. Biggoon held onto her very tightly and said, "I live alone and I want a wife!"
"Let me go," squawked the duck. "I am not for you...my tribe has already chosen a mate for me!"
"Be quiet now," snarled Biggoon, "and I will not hurt you. It is lonesome here and I want you to stay with me. If you struggle or try to escape, then I will knock you on the head or stab you with this little spear that I always carry."
"My tribe will come looking for me," cried the duck fearfully. "They will fight you and perhaps even kill you for taking me hostage."
Biggoon chuckled. "They will not," he insisted. "They will think that Mulloka has got you, but even if they do come, I am ready!" Again, he showed her his spear.
The duck was very frightened and so she stayed with Biggoon. She was far too afraid to try and escape because he watched her all the time. She pretended that she liked her new life and that she intended to live with Biggoon for the rest of her days, but all the while she was thinking about how wonderful it would be if she were only free again. She knew that her tribe had come looking for her. She had heard them as they searched and called her name, but Biggoon kept her imprisoned in his hole by the side of the creek all day and only allowed her out for a short swim at night when he knew that her tribe would be too scared of Mulloka to continue looking for her.
The duck hid her true feelings so well that Biggoon eventually believed that she was honestly happy with him until, gradually, he gave up watching her altogether and began to take very long naps, as he had before she had wandered into his territory. Soon, the duck saw her chance for deliverance.
One afternoon, when Biggoon was fast asleep, she slunk out of the burrow, slid silently into the creek and swam upstream toward her noorumba as quickly as she was able. Suddenly, she heard a sound behind her. She thought it must be Biggoon...or perhaps even the dreaded Mulloka...so, although her wings were very stiff from not having used them in a long time, she spread them as far as she could, raised herself up and flew the rest of the way, finally landing, exhausted and trembling, in the midst of her tribe.
They hurriedly gathered around her, asking so many questions that she hardly had time to answer any of them. When they heard where she had been, the old mother ducks warned all the younger ones to swim only upstream in the future, for Biggoon would surely have vowed vengeance against them all now and they must never take the risk of meeting him.
How the little duck did enjoy her liberty and being back with her tribe again! She splashed in the creek anytime she pleased, be it day or night, and she flew whenever she wished to do so. She felt as though she never wanted to sleep again.
It was not long after the little duck found her way home that laying season came. All the ducks chose nesting places. Some selected hollow trees and some preferred the mirria bushes. When the nests were all nicely lined with down feathers, the ducks laid their eggs. Then, they sat upon them patiently until at long last, the little fluffy, downy ducklings hatched out. Soon, the ducks who had built nests in the trees took the ducklings on their backs and in their bills and flew into the water with them, one at a time. Those who had chosen the mirria bushes waddled out with their young brood right behind them.
In time, the duck who had been the prisoner of Biggoon also hatched out her young. Her friends came swimming around the mirria bush she had chosen for her nest and said, "Come along. Bring out your ducklings too. Teach them to love the water as we do." So, out she came with only two children behind her.
The other ducks began to quack and noisily gabble. "What are those?" they shrieked. "They are my children," said the duck with pride, although she, too, was very puzzled at her offspring's appearance being so different from that of the rest of the tribe. Instead of down feathers, they had soft fur and instead of two feet, they had four. Their bills were like those of the other ducks and their feet were webbed, but on the hind ones they were just beginning to show the points of a spear...like Biggoon always carried to be in readiness for his enemies.
"Take them away," cried the other mother ducks, flapping their wings and making a tremendous splash in the water. "Take them away. They are more like Biggoon than us. Look at their hind feet; the tip of his spear is sticking out from them already. Take them away. They do not belong to our tribe and have no right to be here. Take them away, or we shall kill them before they grow big enough to kill us!"
They were making such a commotion that the unfortunate little mother duck beat a hasty retreat with her two poor, despised children, of whom she had been so pleased despite their peculiarities.
She had no idea where she should go. If she went down the creek, then Biggoon might catch her again and make her live in the burrow or even kill her children because they had webbed feet, a duck's bill and had hatched from eggs. He would be sure to say that they were not of HIS tribe. Nobody would ever care to claim them and there would never be anybody but herself who would care for them. She decided that the sooner she took them far away the better.
The little mother duck, followed closely by her babies, swam away upstream until she reached the mountains. There, she would be able to hide from all those who knew her and be at peace to raise her children. Further and further she travelled until the creek became narrow and scrubby on its banks and was so changed from the broad streams which flowed gently between the large unbroken plains of her noorumba, that she scarcely recognized it as the same body of water.
The little mother duck lived hidden in the mountains for a while but then she pined away and died because even her children, as they grew, saw how different they were from her and kept away by themselves until she felt too lonely and miserable to live...and far too unhappy to even try to find food.
The duck's offspring, however, lived on and began to thrive. They laid eggs and hatched out more children exactly like themselves until, at last, pair by pair, they increased so much that they inhabited all the mountains and creeks.
There, they still live today...the heirs of Biggoon. A tribe quite apart and separate from any other with their mother's webbed feet and their father's soft fur. The native Australians call the species "Gayadari," but to the rest of world, they are known as the Duck-Billed Platypus.