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Updated: August 1, 2024
When go down, groun' close up himself, like winda. My word, me fright. Me shake. One good fella nice gin come up. Sargen' say 'You go corrobboree dance along that fella. Me say 'We go home now, me fright. We want go alonga town. This no good place. Sargen' laugh little bit. He say 'No, my boy, you no fright. All right here. You dance alonga that fella gin good nice gin. Me go up.
Corporal Prag yet further improved the occasion, earning Dam's heartfelt blessing. "Don't you fergit it, Trooper Maffewson. I'm yore sooperier orficer. 'Ung indeed! You look after yer own farver an' don' pass remarks on yer betters. Why! You boozin' waster, I shall be Regimental Sargen' Majer when you're a bloomin' discharged private wiv an 'undred 'drunks' in red on yer Defaulter's Sheet.
Though he has not a shadow of respect for the "debil-debil," George has a firm faith in the existence in the neighbourhood of Cooktown of a camp of what he calls "groun' gins." His experience with these mysterious subterranean sirens he thus describes "Little bit outside Cooktown camp belonga groun' gins. Me and Sargen' go look big corrobboree; my word. Some gins come out alonga groun' from hole.
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