It has been said that Australian blacks never commit suicide. An

instance which goes in proof of the contrary occurred not many months

ago. All the creeks and rivers flowing from the coastal range to the sea

are more or less infested with crocodiles. In crossing creeks, blacks

take every precaution against surprise, rafts of buoyant logs strapped

together with lawyer vine being used. These rafts are continually

drifting across to the island, proving how general is their use. Maria

Creek (about a dozen miles or so up the coast) is well known to be a

popular resort of the crocodile, and at the mouth, where the blacks wade

at low-water, an unusually big fellow had his headquarters. A member of

the Clump Point tribe, painfully afflicted with a vexatious skin

disease, was fishing at the mouth of the creek when his hook fouled. To

a companion he said he would dive to get it clear. His friend

endeavoured to dissuade him, reminding him of the crocodile which they

had, seen but a short time before. But the boy, worn with pain and weary

with never-ending irritation, said if he was taken--"No matter. Good

job. Me finished then." He dived, and there was a commotion in the

water. The boy appeared on the surface, making frantic appeals for help,

while the crocodile worried him. He escaped for a moment, and his friend

clutched his hand and drew him to the bank, only to have him torn from

his grasp. The blacks believe the crocodile took the fish bait in the

first instance and lured the boy to dive. The boy certainly knew the

risk he ran when he did so.

A new, if not altogether agreeable, sensation is added to the gentle art

if it is realised that a cruel and stealthy beast is engaged in a

similar pastime, with the fisherman as the object of its sport.

DISAPPEARANCE OF BLACKS

The rapid disappearance of blacks from localities which held a

considerable population causes wonder. In the early days--less than a

couple of decades past--they swarmed on the mainland opposite Dunk

Island. Now the numbers are few. Within sight of Brammo Bay is the scene

of an official "dispersal" of those alleged to have been responsible

for the murder of some of the crew of a wrecked vessel, who had drifted

ashore on a raft. One boy bears to this day the mark of a bullet on his

cheek, received when his mother fled for her life, and vainly, with him

an infant perched on her shoulders.

In those days "troublesome" blacks were disposed of with scant ceremony.

An incident has been repeated to me several times. A mob of "myalls"

(wild blacks)--they were all myalls then--was employed by a selector to

clear the jungle from his land. They worked, but did not get the

anticipated recompense, and thereupon helped themselves, spearing and

eating a bullock, and disappeared. After a time the selector professed

forgiveness, and, the fears of the blacks of punishment having been

allayed, set them to work again. One day a bucket of milk was brought to

the camp at dinner-time and served out with pannikins. The milk had been

poisoned. "One fella feel 'em here," said my informant, clasping his

stomach. "Run away; tumbledown; finish. 'Nother boy runaway; finish.

just now plenty dead everywhere. Some fella sing out all a same

bullocky." Possibly this may be greeted as another version of the

familiar story of poisoned flour or damper. It is mentioned here as an

instance from the bad old days when both blacks and whites were offhand

in their relations with each other. Such episodes are of the past. The

present is the age of official protection, and perhaps just a trifle too

much interference and meddlesomeness.

Two blacks of the district confessed upon their trial that they had

killed their master for so slight an offence as refusal to give them

part of his own dinner of meat. On the other hand, an instance of the

callousness of the white man may be cited. In a fit of the sulks one of

the boys of the camp threw down some blankets he was carrying, and made

off into the scrub. It was considered necessary to impress the others,

and unhappy chance gave the opportunity. A strange and perfectly

innocent boy appeared on the opposite bank of the creek. The "boss"

was a noted shot, and as the boy sauntered along he deliberately fired

at him. The body fell into the water and drifted down stream. One of the

boys for whose discipline the wanton murder was committed related the

incident to me.

CHAPTER II

GEORGE: A MIXED CHARACTER

George, who considered himself as accomplished and as cultivated as a

white man, was assisting his master in the building of a dinghy.

Contemplating the work of his unaccustomed hands in a rueful frame of

mind, the boss recited, "Thou fatal and perfidious barque, built in

eclipse and rigged with curses dark!" "Ah," said he, "you bin hear that

before, George?" "No," replied the boy; "I no bin hear 'em. What

that? Irish talk?"

A few days after, George peered into one of the rooms of the house, the

walls of which were decorated with prints, among them some studies of

the nude. He sniggered. "What you laugh at, George?" "Me laugh along

that picture--naked. That French woman, I think, Boss!" He was

evidently of opinion that all true and patriotic Irishmen talk in verse,

and in throaty tones, and that the customary habit of French ladies is

"the altogether."

Proud of his personal appearance, George shaved regularly once a week,

borrowing a mirror to assist in the operation. He was wont to apply the

lather from pungent kerosene soap with a discarded tooth-brush which he

had picked up. Long use had thinned the bristles woefully, but the brush

was used faithfully and with grave deliberation. One morning he came and

said--"Boss, you got any more brush belonga shaving? This fella close

up lose 'em whisker altogether."

The sensational episodes of his trooper days provided George with

unending themes. He gave an account to a friend of the suppression of a

black rogue, a faithful report of which is presented as an example of

unbowdlerised pidgin English.

George--"You bin hear about Mr Limsee have fight? My word, he fight

proper; close up killed. We three fella ride about. Cap'n--big strong

boy that--me and Mr Limsee. Wild boy--boy from outside; Myall--beggar that

fella--longa gully. Hit Mr Limsee. He bin have long fella stick, like

that one Tom take a longa fight--short handle. Heavy fella that--carn

lif 'em easy, one hand. Mr Limsee tumbledown. Get up. That boy kill 'em

one time more hard. My word, strong fella boy that. Catch 'em Mr Limsee--

tchuk longa ground, hard fella--like that. Me and Cap'n come. Mr Limsee

alonga ground yet--'Hello! Mr Limsee, you bin hurt?' 'Yes, my boy

I hurt plenty. Not much; only little bit. That fella boy hit me alonga

sword. You catch that fella. Hold 'em.' Me and Cap'n say--'You no run

away, you boy.' 'Me no fright.' He have 'em spear. Me tell 'em--'You

no runaway. Me catch you.' He say--'Me no fright, you fella.' Me say

--'You no runaway. I shoot you.' He say all a time--'Me no fright. Me

fight you.' Me say--'You fool, you carn fight alonga this fella bullet.

He catch you blurry quick.' That fella stop one place. We two fella go

up alongside. Cap'n he say--'Hold up your hand. Le' me look your hand?'

He hold up hand. Quick we put 'em han'cup. That fella no savee han'cup

before. He bin sing out loud--loud like anything. We two fella laugh

plenty. Mr Limsee tie 'em up hand longa tree, and belt him proper. Belt

him plenty longa whip. My word, that fella sing out--sing out--sing out.

Mr Limsee belt him more. All time he sing out. Bi'mby let 'em go. He bad

fella boy that altogether. We fella--go home along camp. Mr Limsee feel

'em sore tchoulder. Nex' day that boy--very tchausey fella--come up along

camp. He say--'Me want fight that fella Cap'n.' Cap'n come up. That

fella catch 'em, Cap'n tchuk him hard alonga ground. Get up; tchuk him

two time. Head go close up alonga stone. Two fella wrastle all about

long time. Cap'n strong fella. That boy more strong. Knock 'em about

like anything. Bi'mby come back he have spear--three wire spear--long

handle. Tchuk 'em spear. Catch 'em Cap'n longa side--here. Wire come out

nother side--here. He carn stay--tumble down. Good boy that; my mate long

time. Some fella go alonga house tell 'em Mr Limsee--'That boy bin kill

you, fight long a camp. Cap'n catch 'em spear longa inside.' Mr Limsee

come down. He say--'Cap'n, my boy, I think you finish now; me very sorry

for you.' Bad place for spear longa side. Hollow inside. Suppose spear

go along a leg and arm, no matter. Suppose go inside, hollow place

inside, you finish quick. Plenty times me bin see 'em man finish that

way. Mr Limsee he very sorry. We catch that boy. Put han'cup behind,

lika that way. My word he carn run away now. Chain alonga leg. Mr Limsee

bi'mby send 'em down Cooktown. That fella no more come back. He go along

Sen'eleena (St Helena penal establishment). Me bin think he bin get two

years. Cap'n he carn stay. Two days that fella dead. He bin good mate,

me sorry. Mr Limsee he very sorry. Good fella longa boy."

Once George illuminated his conversation with an aphorism. Describing a

battle between the Tully River blacks and those of Clump Point, in which

his mate, Tom of Dunk Island (leader of the Clump Point party), had been

severely wounded, he said--"'Nother fella boy from outside, come up

behind Tom. He no look out that way. That boy tchuk 'em boomerang.

Boomerang stick in leg belonga Tom. Tom no feel 'em first time. He stan'

up yet. Bi'mby when want walk about, tumble down. Look out. Hello! see

'em boomerang alonga leg. He no more can walk about."

The boss remarked--"Might be long time, Tom feel 'em leg sore."

George--"Ah! me like see 'em kill alonga head. Finish 'em one time.

Danger nebber dead." Whether George wished to enforce the opinion that

in battle nothing short of death was glorious, or that Tom though

wounded was still valorous and would live to fight again, was not clear,

but "Danger nebber dead," probably represents the only aboriginal

aphorism extant.

George is not the least superstitious. He takes everything for granted.

Rain, in his opinion, comes from a big tank up above somewhere. Asked as

to his belief in the personal "debil-debil," of whom the mainland boys

have such dread that few will stir out after dark, he said with a

guffaw--"Me nebber bin see one yet. Suppose me see 'em, me run 'em!"

George is, therefore, as yet unable to give a description of the fiend;

but from hearsay authority declares that it possesses three eyes, two in

the ordinary position, and one at the back of the head. It is believed

that the third eye insures the "debil-debil" against all possible

surprises, thus preserving the mystery of identity.

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. 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. Me feel 'em fright. Feel 'em

cold inside. Too much fright. My word; han' belonga that fella gin--cold

like anything. That gin say--'Where you from?' Me say--'Me come from

alonga town.' That gin say--'What you look out?' Me say--'Me look out

bullocky, musser 'em cattle. Tail 'em up. Look out weaner alonga

paddick. Plenty hard work.' Me dance little bit alonga that gin. Not

much. Too fright. Bi'mby that gin go down below. Groun' shut 'em up. All

day down below. Come up night time. Carn come up alonga sun. Soft fella

that. Suppose come up alonga sun, sun kill 'em. Too sof' altogether."

Cooktown blacks, according to George, use a much lighter sporting spear

than that in vogue in these parts. Instead of a slender sapling

(preferably of red mangrove), straightened and toughened patiently over

the fire, he would provide himself with the scape of a grass tree

(XANTHORRHEA ARBOREA), true and straight as a billiard cue, light, and 8

or 10 feet long. Into a socket in the thicker end he would insert a

single 1/4-inch steel point, 18 inches long, or three pieces of No. 8

wire, with the sharpened points slightly spread.

The merit of his weapon was the subject of frequent debate, the Dunk

Island natives arguing in favour of a heavier spear, but George showed

that his was effective as well as economic. During a discussion, George

told the following story, which, it will be noticed, has in some

details, its parallel in a tragic incident in the history of England. No

attempt is made to refine George's language:--

"This fella spear kill plenty. Kangaroo, wallaby, fish--kill 'em all

asame. He go ri' through longa kangaroo. One time me see 'em catch one

fella boy. Brother belonga me--Billy--strong fella that. One time we go

after kangaroo. Billy walk about close up, me sit down alonga rock; me

plant me'self. 'Nother boy close up. He plant. We no see that fella.

Bi'mby me see little fella wallaby feed about. Me bin whistle alonga my

brother. 'Here wallaby. Come this way; quiet!' my brother come up.

'Tchuk spear, miss wallaby, catch 'em that other fella boy, here. He bin

sing out--cry like anything. My brother fright. That boy sing out--'Billy,

you; what for you spear me.' Billy run away, that boy sing

out--'Billy. No, you run away. Come up; pull out spear, quick fella!'

Billy run away. Me sit down quiet. No make noise. Me hear that fella cry,

cry, sing out like anything. He carn walk about. Me go quiet along a

grass long way. Come round 'nother side. That boy no bin see me. Bi'mby

me see gins--big mob. Sing out--'One fella boy bin catch 'em spear. He very

bad. Close up dead now.' Billy plant himself long way. Boys and gins

come up, where boy sing out. 'Carry 'em alonga camp.' Me go long way,

where auntie belonga me sit down. That spear cartn pull 'em out. He got

hook. All a time that boy sing out, 'Pull out spear.' Bi'mby Billy come

back. He very sorry. He say--'Me no wan' spear you. Me no look out you.

Me wan' catch 'em wallaby.' That boy say, 'All ri, Billy. You good mate

belonga me.' Three days that spear inside yet. Me come alonga camp. That

boy look 'em all ri'. Me say--'Me very sorry. Me think you dead now.' He

say--'Me no dead. Me feel all ri'. Me want pull out spear.' Old men

pull out hard. Carn shift 'em. Old men say--'We cut 'em now.' Get knife,

sharpen 'em, cut 'em, cut 'em, cut 'em. Three strong boys pull 'em

spear. Pull 'em hard altogether. Pull out plenty beef longa that hook.

That boy no sing out. My word. He carn stop. Two weeks dead. Gins no bin

bury 'em. What you think? Cut 'em up beef from bone; put beef in bark,

put white paint alonga bark, tie 'em up and hung up 'em a longa

dilly-bag. My word, puff! Bi'mby you se-mell 'em stink."

George was not pressed to display his accomplishments. He chose during

many months to hold himself in reserve, and to live up to the reputation

of being quite a scholar, as far as scholarship goes among blacks. But

in accordance with expectations, his pride and enthusiasm got the better

of him. He produced two scraps of paper, on each of which were a number

of sinuous lines and scrawls, saying

"You write all asame this kind?"

"No," I said, "I no write like that."

"This easy fella? All the time me write this kind."

"Well, what you write?" George's attention at once became concentrated,

and gazing steadfastly on the paper for a minute or so for the

marshalling of his wits, said--"This fella say Coleman Riber, Coen Riber?

Horse Dead Creek, Massac (Massacre) Riber, Big Morehead, Kennedy Riber,

Laura Riber." These are the names of some of the streams north from

Cooktown, George's country. On the other scrap of paper, according to

him, the names of some of the islands in this neighbourhood were

written. Though the papers were transposed and turned upside down,

George could read them with equal facility. The list of rivers would be

read for the islands, and the islands for the rivers, quite

indifferently, and with entertaining naivete. But he treasured the

papers, and continued to delude his fellows with the display of what

they considered to be wonderful cleverness.

YAB-OO-RAGOO, OTHERWISE "MICKIE"

"Mislike me not for my complexion."

He said that his name was Mickie, and that he was an Irishman, and a

native of the great Palm Island--40 miles south. He hath no personal

comeliness--his face is his great misfortune. Though he asserts with

pride his nationality, he admits that his mother, now among the stars,

"sat down alonga 'nother side," and his complexion, or rather what is

seen of it through an artless layer of charcoal and grease, applied out

of respect to the memory of his deceased brother-in-law, shows no Celtic

trace. Yet he has a keen appreciation of fun, has ready wit, and,

according to his own showing, is not averse to a shindy, so that,

perhaps his given name is at least characteristic of his assumed race. A

flat overhanging forehead, keen black eyes, a broad-rooted, unobtrusive

nose, a most capacious mouth, beard and whiskers thin and unkempt, and a

fierce-looking moustache, a head of hair which in boyhood days had

probably been a mass of crisp curls, but now shaggy tufts, matted and

uneven, altogether a shockingly repulsive physiognomy, and yet an

"honest Injin" in every respect and one who would always look on the

happy side of life, but for twinges of neuralgia--"monda" he calls

it--which rack his head and face with pain. I saw only the peaceful side

of Mickie's nature, and therefore this chronicle will be unsensational

as well as imperfect. There is a tradition that the Palm Island blacks

are of a milder, less bellicose disposition, than those of the mainland

opposite. Many years ago when a party of bushmen, fresh from the

excitement and weariness of the Gilbert rush, reposed for a few days on

the soft grey sand of Challenger Bay, the spot was invaded by a band of

mainland natives. In the early dawn the peace-loving Palm Islanders

awoke the friendly whites with the news that a "big fella mob" was

coming across in canoes. Under ordinary circumstances they would have

fled to the jungle-covered hills until the invaders had retired, but the

knowledge that the whites had a couple of guns, and a good supply of

shot, inspired a high degree of temporary courage. Possibly the

extraordinary courage of the islanders in thus awaiting the attack put

the invaders on their guard, for they would not approach nearer than 50

yards. A closer range was desired, for there was a special barrel loaded

with coarse salt, and the invaders were innocent of clothing. However, a

round of duck-shot had some effect, though the blacks who escaped the

pickling slapped themselves in a defiant and grossly-contemptuous

manner. Each who did so, however, grieved, for another round was fired,

and each hero must have depended upon the good offices of his brother in

distress in picking out the pellets. This is said to be the last

occasion on which the placid Palm Islanders saw an enemy land upon their

shores. Mickie did not remember the invasion, or if he did so, he was

not anxious to demonstrate that his ancestors were not cast in the

heroic mould. Probably all recollection of the escapade is lost to the

natives of the Palms, and I am driven to accept the white man's

uncorroborated version of it.

Mickie is very proud of his well-conditioned spouse, "Jinny"--"Missus

Michael," as Mickie calls her when in the sportive vein--and Jinny, or

"Penti-byer," her maiden name, reciprocates the regard, and sees that the

dilly-bag, which does duty for the larder, is supplied with yams, nuts,

roots and shell-fish, Mickie being responsible for the fish--speared in

the lagoon at low tide--and the scrub-fowl eggs, and the ivory white

grubs, etc., upon which they live when there is no "white fella" sitting

down. When Providence sends a "white fella," they appreciate flour, tea,

sugar, potatoes, meat, and all sorts of game, from cockatoos to

flying-foxes. Once Mickie was asked how he managed to win the favour of

such a fine gin. "Unkl belonga her giv'em me," he replied. There was no

marriage ceremony. There was no knocking out of a tooth, or the

administration of a stunning blow on the head with a nulla-nulla, no

eating of maize-pudding from the same plate, no drinking brandy

together, no "hand fasting," nor boring of the bride's ears by the

bridegroom, no tying of hands, nor smearing with each other's blood, nor

binding together with ropes of grass; simply, "Unkl belonga her giv

'em me!" Once in his possession, however, and Mickie proceeded to set

his mark on his bride, so that should any dispute arise as to identity,

he at least would have authentic brands. With an apparently studied

array of cicatrices, each 3 inches long and half an inch wide, on her

arms and shoulders, Mickie marked Jinny for his own. The couple have one

girl--Mickie prefers to use the word "daw-tah"--and his child had been

but lately received into the bosom of the family, after several years'

exile among the whites. It is somewhat of a trouble that "Minnie" had

almost forgotten her native tongue, and that her parents have to yabber

to her in English. According to them it will be a year before Minnie

regains lingual facility. In the meantime great pains are being taken

with her education, and her accomplishments promise to be varied,

though entirely unornamental. She will in time be able to recognise at

a glance the particular kind of decayed timber in which the delicious

white grub resides, will know that the nut of the cycad has to be

immersed in a running stream before it is "good fella," and how to grind

the kernel into flour, and how to mould the dough into a German

sausage-shaped damper; she will be able to walk about the reef, picking

up blacklip oysters and clams, without lacerating the soles of her feet,

and to make a dilly-bag, and, finally, to enjoy a smoke.

Mickie appreciates a joke. When Jinny complained that the scrub caught

her brand new pipe and had broken it short off, Mickie with an

extravagant grimace softly urged her to go along Townsville and buy

another.

He is also superstitious. After dark he will not move a yard from his

camp without a flaring torch of paper bark, a fiery aspersorium for the

scaring of the "debil-debil." His opinions on the supernatural are

unsatisfactory. He does not know what the "debil-debil" is like, or

what form the ill-will of that mystic being would take--nothing but "that

fella sit down alonga scrub," and that he has "long fella needle alonga

hand"; and so he carries and waves about his paper bark torch to scare

this viewless and dreaded enemy.

Mickie's views as to the future are not quite explicit. "Suppose me go

bung, me go alonga sky. Bi'mby jump up 'nother fella." He is not at all

certain whether the transformation would be into a white man or not; in

fact he appears absolutely indifferent. Another time he will say--"Suppose

me go bung. Good-bye, finish; no come back. Plenty fella alonga

Palm Island go bung. He no come back." Daylight disperses all his fears.

In point of fact he has nothing to fear. His foes are dead, and there is

no poisonous snake or offensive animal on the Palms. Once he sprang

suddenly and excitedly into the air as we tramped through the long grass

on the edge of the sweetly-smelling jungle, with the exclamation,

"Little fella snake!" Being reminded that he had boldly asserted that

there was no bad snakes on the island, Mickie replied--"That fella no

bad. Only make foot big." He never missed a chance of securing a

hatful of grubs, which, together with the chrysalides and the full-grown

beetle (brown and glossy) were devoured after being warmed through on

the ashes. When the tomahawk in the process of cutting out damaged a

grub, Mickie with a leer of satisfaction would eat the wriggling insect

with a feigned apology--"Me bin cut that fella." Baked in the ashes the

chrysalids have a wholesome, clean appearance, with a flavour of

coco-nut, and the "white fella" always came in for his share.

Mickie's bush craft, his knowledge of the habits of birds and insects

and the ways of fish, is enviable. Signs and sounds quite indeterminate

to "white fellas" are full of meaning to him. Of course, by failure to

comprehend such things, no doubt he has many a time gone hungry, and the

keenness of his appetite has so sharpened his perceptions that he is

seldom at fault now. The scratching of a scrub fowl among decayed leaves

is heard in the jungle at an extraordinary distance, and a splash or

ripple far out on the edge of the reef tells him that a shark or

kingfish is driving the mullet into the lagoon, where he may easily

spear them. He can tell to a quarter of an hour when the fish will leave

off biting; he hears the scamper of the iguana in the grass when the

"white fella" fails to catch a sound, and knows when the giant crabs

will be "walking about" in the mangroves. He is trustworthy and

obliging, and ready to impart all the lore he possesses, an expert

boomerang thrower, a dead shot with a nulla-nulla, and an eater of

everything that comes in his way except "pigee-pigee." Having long had

the pleasure of his acquaintance, I can cordially wish him a

never-failing supply of "patter" and tobacco, and surcease of "monda";

and what more can the heart of a blackfellow desire--save rum?

TOM: HIS WIVES--HIS BATTLES

Tom has been thrice married--at least he has possessed three wives. For

a few months he had two at a time, and placidly endured the

consequences.

Of the bride of his youth history has no word--for Tom is the only

historian of that period, and he ever bears sorrows in silence.

Nelly, whose country borders the beach of the mainland opposite, could

not speak his language when he fought for her fairly and honourably, and

won her from her first man. Though reared but a little over 2 miles

apart, these twain have totally different words for the same objects.

During married life each has added to the vocabulary of the other.

When we took possession of the island, Nelly would glide into the jungle

like a frightened snake and hide for days. She was wild, suspicious,

uncleanly, uncouth--a combination of all the shortcomings of the savage.

Now she lights the fire every morning, kneads the bread, makes the

porridge and the coffee, feeds the fowls, washes plates and clothes,

scrubs floors, and generally does the work of a domestic. She is

cheerfully industrious, emphatic in her admiration of pictures, and

smokes continuously, preferring a pipe ornamented with "lead," for she

has all the woman's love of show. From the most quarrelsome and vixenish

gin of the camp she has been transformed into a decent-minded

peacemaker--always ready to atone for the misbehaviour of others, and to

display without a trace of self-glorification the virtue of

self-sacrifice. Nelly is never happier than when working about the

house, except when she saunters off on a Sunday morning, in the glare of

a new dress, and with the smoke curling from her ornamented pipe,

beneath a hat which, in variety of tints, shames the sunset sky.

Students of ethnology who may scan these lines may find food for

reflection in the fact that Tom and Nelly offer exceptions to the rules

that the totems of Australian blacks generally refer to food, and that

those whose totems are alike do not marry. Tom's totemic title,

"Kitalbarra," is derived from a splinter of a rock off an islet to the

southeast of Dunk Island. "Oongle-bi," Nelly's affinity, is a rock on

the summit of a hill on the mainland, not far from her birthplace. The

plea of the rocks was not raised as any just cause or impediment to the

match when Tom by force of arms espoused Nelly. "Jimmy," Tom and Nelly's

son, born in civilisation, bears a second name, that of a deceased

uncle, "Toola-un-guy," the totemic rendering of which is now unknown.

Another "Jimmy," a native of Hinchinbrook, is differentiated by

"Yaeki-muggie," the title of the sandspit of one of the Brook Islands.

The confusion of tongues between Tom and Nelly may be briefly

illustrated--

TOM ("Kitalbarra"). NELLY ("Oongle-bi").

Sun. Wee-yee. Car-rie.

Moon. Yil-can. Car-cal-oon.

Sky. Aln-pun. Moogah-car-boon.

Mainland. Yungl-man. Mung-un.

Island. Cul-qua-yah. Moan-mitte.

Sea. Mutta. Yoo-moo.

Fire. Wam-pui. Poon-nee.

Water. Cam-moo. Pan-nahr.

Rain. Yukan. Yukan.

Man. Mah-al. Yer-rah.

Woman. Rit-tee. Ee-bee.

Baby. Eee-bee. Koo-jal.

Head. Poo-you. Oom-poo.

Foot. Pin-kin. Chin-nah.

Leg. Waka. Too-joo.

Hand. Man-dee. Mul-lah.

Fish. Tar-boo. Kooyah.

Bird. Poong-an. Toon-doo.

The big-eyed walking fish of the mangroves, which the learned have named

PERIOPHTHALMUS KOELREUTERI, Tom knows as "manning-tsang," and Nelly as

"mourn!"

During one of his bachelordom interludes a smart young gin known as

"Dolly" attracted Tom's fancy. He had just "signed on" for a six

months' cruise with the master of a beche-de-mer schooner. Dolly smiled

so sweetly upon Tom that Charley, her boy, raged furiously. Tom--never

demonstrative, always cool and deep--obtaining an advance from his

captain, bought, among a few other attractive trifles, an extremely

gaudy dress, and having artlessly displayed the finery, took it all on

board the schooner, which was to sail the following morning at daylight.

During the evening Dolly strolled casually from the camp and the society

of the fuming Charley, and disappeared. Tom had quite a trousseau, new

and bright, for his sweetheart, when she clambered on board, naked, wet,

and with shining eyes. Next morning Charley tracked her along the beach.

An old and soiled dress--his gift--on a little promontory of rocks about a

mile from the anchorage of the schooner completed the love-story.

This intrigue took place many years ago, but Charley was so deeply

mortified that he hates Tom to this day, and Tom is an uncomfortable

fellow for anyone disposed to resentfulness.

We know, because he says so, that Tom fought for her, and that Nelly

gladly accepted the protection of the staunchest man of the district.

Tom, in his surly moments, is exquisitely cruel; but Nelly's devotion is

unaffected. Her vanity led her to flaunt her gaudy hat in the hut. Tom

reproved such flashness--he invariably selects the gayest shirts

himself--by burning the hat and all the newly-acquired finery. Nelly

struck back, and Tom, as her eyes were big and ablaze with fury, threw--at

the cost of burnt fingers--a handful of hot sand and ashes into her

face. From Tom's point of view it was a splendid feat--one of those bold

and effective master-strokes that only a ready and determined sportsman

could conceive and on the instant carry into effect. Nelly's eyes were

closed for weeks--well-nigh for ever--and the skin peeled off her face;

but she consented to the cruel punishment without a murmur after the

first shriek of agony, and won Tom to good temper and tolerance of her

vanity by all sorts of happy concessions.

How many such tiffs--tough and smart--has poor Nelly borne? Her grief has

been so sore that she has torn her hair out by the roots in frenzy and

stamped upon it; but Tom, surly and impassive Tom, is her lord as well

as her most exacting master, and in their own way they are devoted to

one another.

The roughest cross Nelly was called upon to bear was the presence of

Tom's third wife--"Little Jinny"--the manner of whose wooing and

home-coming is to be told.

News came from Lucinda Point to Clump Point--passed from one to

another--that Tom's half-brother (a purely fictional relationship) had

died, leaving a young widow. According to Tom's rendering of the

matrimonial laws, he was the rightful heir. The widow was all that his

half-brother had left that was of the slightest consequence.

Tom, telling the circumstances, asked for a holiday that he might

personally lay claim to his inheritance. Reminded that he had one wife,

he frankly declared in Nelly's presence, and she seemed to acquiesce,

that she was no good; but that the other one was a "good fella" in every

respect, even to washing plates and scrubbing floors.

His holiday was granted. He went away with money in his pockets,

blankets, several changes of raiment--among them Nelly's best dress and

hat, dilly-bags brightly coloured, and weapons--boomerang, two black palm

spears, a great wooden sword, a shield decorated with a complicated

pattern in red and white earth, and a flashing new tomahawk.

So he departed, with Nelly's best wishes, and full of hope and

expectation, promising to return in two weeks.

Two months slipped past, and one evening a forlorn, ragged, lean

scarecrow of a black boy--without a hat, unshaven, without a blanket, and

even destitute of a pipe, clambered over the side of the steamer, and

dropped into the boat without a word. It was Tom!

In shreds and patches the history of his experience was related. He had

arrived at Lucinda, had charmed "Little Jinny" with his manly presence

and spruceness and the amount of his personal property, supplemented by

the display and free bestowal of Nelly's choicest finery, and had, as a

matter of course, been compelled to fight for her. He had been beaten,

terribly beaten. One ear had been viciously "marked," a triangular

slice being missing (a subsequent combat removed all trace of this

mark), and he showed the meritorious scar of a spear-wound on the arm.

Having failed in the stand-up fight, he had resorted to stratagem, had

been foiled, and forced to flee, abandoning everything, even to that

last vestige of independence--his pipe.

We knew that he had been hard pressed, for on going gaily away he had

volunteered to bring a fat young pig from one of the wild herds of

Hinchinbrook, and he came back empty-handed. He talks of the pig--how fat

and very young it was--even to this day. He came with his life--that was

all, and a threadbare sort of life it was at that.

Several months went by--a black boy recovers condition in a day or two

as does a starved dog--and Tom had saved money. He never forgets, never

swerves from a purpose. He is as determined as a dung-beetle.

Another leave of absence was granted. A second raid was made upon

Nelly's wardrobe--two big bailer shells. Elated, freshly shaved and

smiling, he was a different sort from the individual who had

shamefacedly slipped over the side of the steamer, bereft of everything

but life.

He said he would be back in two weeks, and to the day he appeared. His

youthful third wife he handed down into the boat, and the boat was full

of their luggage. Ah, that desolated camp at Lucinda! The young lady's

trousseau was complete even to lingerie. He had won the fight, and the

bride and the spoils were his.

Poor Nelly! She welcomed "Little Jinny" effusively, and "Little

Jinny" gave her a dress and a second-best hat. Life for a couple of

days at the camp was idyllic. Then they took back the gifts of clothing,

and turned Nelly out of the hut. She built a separate establishment--a

dome of dried grass on bent sticks, and in it she wept and upbraided,

and fired up frequently under the torments of jealousy.

Shrill squabbles were of daily occurrence, until the great Peacemaker

removed Tom's favourite wife. And who more sorely grieved than Nelly!

Will the title bear a few words as to Tom the hunter? Was ever a keener,

a more patient, a more self-possessed, and consequently a more

successful, sportsman? He it was who, from a cranky punt (no white man

would venture out to sea in such a craft,) at three o'clock one windy

afternoon, harpooned an immense bull-turtle, which towed him towards the

Barrier Reef, into the track of the big steamers 4 miles to the east. He

battled with the game all the afternoon and evening, overcame it at "the

dead waste and middle of the night," and towed it back to the beach,

landing after thirteen hours' continuous work. Tom accomplished the feat

in a strong breeze and with a turtle diving and tugging, when he might

have cut the line at any moment and paddled home comfortably.

He is as much at home on the top of a bloodwood tree, hanging round a

swaying limb while cutting out a "bee nest," as in a frail bark canoe

among the sharks on the skirts of a shoal of bonito.

As we neared the beach one day a big sea-mullet came into view. Without

a moment's hesitation, and as it flashed past the boat, Tom, using

the oar as a spear, hit the slippery fish with such precision and force

as to impale it. He will harpoon a turtle as it rushes away from the

boat, 5 feet beneath the surface, with the coolness of a

billiard-player, and with unerring accuracy "taking off" for the speed

of the boat and the refraction of the water. All the ways and habits of

fish, and their favourite feeding-grounds, are to him as pages of an open

book.

A groper, more voracious and bolder than usual, followed a safely-hooked

perch from the dim coral garden, worrying it like a bull-dog. As the

struggling fish splashed on the surface the groper, abandoning its

illegitimate prey, swerved swiftly downwards. The retreat was a second

too late, for Tom had seized the, harpoon lying athwart the boat, and

though the fish appeared through a fathom and a half of water, a vague,

fleeting, contorted shadow, he reached it. The barbed point passed

through it, carrying a foot or two of the line, and a 30-pounder was

added to our catch at one stroke and without a tremor of excitement on

Tom's part.

He sailed his punt--12 feet long and 4 feet wide--6 miles, loaded with

eight adults, eight piccaninnies, five dogs, a cat, blankets for the

crowd, and all the frowsy miscellanea of a black's camp. It was not a

boatload that landed on the beach: it was a procession. But Tom would go

to sea on a chip. His skill as a sailor of small boats is largely a

manifestation of characteristic caution, his precept being--"Subpose big

seas come one, one--all right. Subpose come two, two--look out!"

"LITTLE JINNY"

In Life and In Death

She was called "Little Jinny" to distinguish her from another of the

blacks about the place--a great, good-natured, giggling creature who

laughs perpetually and grows ever fatter. There was nothing in common

between the two. Indeed they frequently had differences, for "Jinny"

proper is industrious, obliging, cheerful, and full of fun, while she,

"Little Jinny," was silent, sulky, and ever averse from toil.

Tom, her man, alternately petted and beat her. She, no doubt, deserved

both, for she was proud and haughty for a black gin, and as venomous at

times as a scorpion. His hand is heavy, and when he lifted it in anger

poor "Little Jinny" suffered--but suffered in silence. Her chastisements

were not frequent, but they seemed to increase her loyalty towards her

lord and master.

From a European standpoint, "Little Jinny" had little of which to be

vain. She had a fuzzy head of hair. Some, like fur, crept down across

her brows, giving her face a singularly unbecoming cast. I did not

notice this peculiar uncomeliness until she was dying, and I felt then

more than ever that she was not to be judged in accordance with our

standard of beauty--though she had many of our little weaknesses. Her

ignorance of civilised ways was pathetic, yet she was vain and

coquettish as the fairest of her sex. And her besetting vanity was

endeavouring to be a "lady." Work was sordid, for she wore garments

which made her the leader of fashion. She possessed a pair of--well, a

bifurcated garment--and her whole life was spent in trying to live up to

it--or them. She succeeded to a certain extent. Her ways were mincing and

precise, and she lazed away her days quite artistically. A can of water

was too heavy for her to carry, less than two hours "spell" at a time

quite an offence to her ideal of the amount of repose that a lady

wearing the bifurcated garment should permit herself. She was wont to

sit in the shade of the mango-tree and pretend to do a little gardening.

It was all pretence. What she really loved to do was to wander among the

bloodwoods--with Tom, of course--with next to nothing on, the next to

nothing being the drawers. There, you have them. Then you saw her at her

best--or rather worst, for she was a thin sapling of a girl, of a dull

coppery colour, and the garment was not always snowy-white.

Hers, after all, was an ideal existence. She had plenty to eat, as much

tobacco as was good for her, and outer raiment that in gaudiness

outrivalled the flame-tree and the yellow hibiscus. She was the

favourite of two consorts, and only when her pride and scorpion-like

attributes got the better of her was she corrected.

Now, just the other morning, Tom announced that "Little Jinny" was sick

"along a bingey" (stomach), and suggested that salt medicine might do

her good. It was quite a common occurrence for her to be sick. It was

such an easy and excellent excuse for a day's holiday, when she would

bask on the soft grey sand and smoke, gazing across the placid bay and

waiting for meal-times. So no one took her sickness seriously.

Subsequent inquiries, however, elicited the fact that "Little Jinny"

had eaten little or no tucker the day prior to Tom's application for

medicine on her behalf, and that she was really entitled to sympathy of

the most practical kind. But no one had the least suspicion of the fact.

Dinner-time came and she did not appear, though she was strolling about

the flat below the house, apparently only a "little bit sick," as Tom

reported when he came up to his work.

"That one all right to-morrow," was the reply to an inquiry.

But at five o'clock Tom visited his hut, and hurried back for medicine.

"Little Jinny" was very bad. We went down with remedies that seemed

fit from his diagnosis of the case and description of the symptoms, and

there lay "Little Jinny," obviously dying. She had never complained nor

whimpered when Tom's heavy hand had corrected her, though the dried

trickle of blood had been seen on her forehead, and now that she lay

a-dying, with her figure strangely swollen, she moaned only when Torn,

with his heavy hand, sought to squeeze out the dead man, "all the same

like debil-debil," who was, according to him, the cause of the trouble.

But it was all too implacable and crafty a "debil-debil" for Tom to cast

out. We did our best with brandy and steaming flannels; but it was all

so useless, for none understood the sickness, or how to prescribe a

remedy that might be effective. Our helplessness was grievous. We could

only repeat the sips of brandy and water, and endeavour to warm the

chilly little body with steamy flannels.

All did something. Even Nelly, the second best wife, who had had to play

a very subordinate part in the camp, and whom "Little Jinny" had

slapped and had abused with all the volubility of spite and temper,

crouched beside her dying rival, chafing her cold hands and warming her

cheeks.

And here was the most touching incident of the pathetic scene. We had

brandy and blankets and flannels wherewith to endeavour to afford

relief. Poor Nelly had nothing. Her poverty was grim, but she had some

resource. She had no means of alleviating the suffering save those which

spendthrift Nature provided--the smooth oily leaf of the "Raroo." She

used these aromatic leaves, all that she had, with no little art and

tenderness. Warming them over the fire until the oil exuded, she would

apply them to the hairy jowl of the girl, and anon to her furry forehead

and cheeks.

While there is life there is hope is evidently Nelly's creed, and so she

crunched and warmed the pungently odorous leaves, and rubbed the hands

that had often smitten her in anger. Poor Nelly sighed piteously as she

continued her work, while Tom massaged the body of the girl, hoping to

expel the "debil-debil!" His theory was, and is, that some man whom

"Little Jinny" had known down about Hinchinbrook had died, and his

"debil-debil all the same like dead man," had "sat down" in "Little

Jinny's bingey,"--hence her distended condition.

His efforts to cast out this personal "debil" were futile, and as the

poor creature lapsed into unconsciousness he would blow gusty breaths

upon her big black eyes. It was his method of revivification. In my

ignorance I knew none more to the purpose. But it was all in vain. The

great eyes of this specimen of uncivilised humanity clouded over, and

then brightened. She moaned in response to Tom's well-intended but too

forcible massaging. Nelly applied without ceasing the one means of

relief that she possessed, the heated "Raroo" leaf, to cheek and

forehead, while we exhausted our woefully meagre stock of knowledge in

endeavouring to ease the last moments of the dying.

But poor "Little Jinny's" creditor was not to be denied. He was

exacting, cruelly exacting, imperious, implacable. He would have the

uttermost farthing's worth of her poor, crude life.

Nelly might sigh and use the whole armful of "Raroo" leaves; Tom might

massage, and the others do their best, which was pitiably poor, and

their uttermost, which was ever so mean and little, the Conquering Worm

would have its victim. And so with a few long-drawn, gulping sighs, each

at a longer interval than the last, until the final one, "Little Jinny"

passed away as the sun touched the dark blue barrier of mountains

across the channel to the west.

Then Nelly's sighs changed into a wail, in which the other members of

the camp joined, a penetrating falsetto cry which continued for two

days, mingled with the strong man's expression of woe, a low, weird yet

not inharmonious hum. For two days they chanted the virtues of the dead,

told of her likes and dislikes, and of their grief, crouching beside the

blanket-covered form. Then they buried her in the smoky hut in which she

lived, digging a shallow grave in the black sand, and there she rests

with them.

Tom has put on the mourning of his tribe, and will not for several years

eat of a certain fish associated with "Little Jinny's" original name.

Nor can he bear to be reminded of her. The day after she was buried he

spent the hours between daylight and sunset wandering about wherever

"Little Jinny" had been wont, obliterating the tracks made by her feet.

With the keenest of sight, which is one of the superior qualifications

of the race, he discerned the tracks on the sandy, forest-clad flat, and

rubbed them out with his foot.

Just as love-lorn Orlando ran about the forest of Arden carving on

"Every tree

The fair, the chaste, the unexpressive she,"

so this tough, rude savage, spent the, whole day smothering the marks

that would "sad remembrance bring" of the poor creature for whom he had

that kind of feeling that in the savage stands for love. Nature would

have performed the office as effectually, and perhaps more tenderly, but

Tom's hasty grief drove him remorselessly, until no outward and visible

sign of the dead girl remained to challenge it.

When I ponder upon Nelly's "Raroo" leaves and Tom's terrible and

precise earnestness in blotting out the memory of the past, I am

convinced that this race, despised and neglected of men, can be as

devoted to one another as truly as we who are so superior to them in

many attributes.

THE LANGUAGE TEST

Casual investigations confirm the opinion that the language of the

natives of Dunk, Hinchinbrook and the intervening isles was mutually

understood. Certainly there are more terms in common with Dunk Island

and the southern end of Hinchinbrook--40 miles away--than with Dunk Island

and the adjacent mainland. In pre-white folks days amicable intercourse

between the natives of the islands and of the mainland was unknown

though the islanders frequently visited one another. Hence no doubt

their dominant character and higher order of intelligence generally.

Literally the insular was a floating population, and derived the

advantage of intercommunication. That of the mainland was stationary. It

groped dimly in the jungle, each sept, isolated by bewildering

differences in language, cramped, narrow, suspicious. Tribes whose

country came within 2 or 3 miles of the sea never intruded on the beach,

and the Beachcombers dared not venture beyond recognised limits. To this

day Tom will not "walk about" inland unless he is in possession of real

superiority in the matter of arms, or has a following in force. He

professes fear of the primordial savagery of the "man alonga bush."

LAST OF THE LINE

The last King of Dunk Island--known to the whites as "Jimmy"--was a

tall, lanky man, irreclaimably truculent, incapable of recognising the

dominance of those who bestowed his Christian name. Long after most of

his fellows had submitted in a more or less kindly spirit to the

o'ermastering-race, "Jimmy" held aloof, and in his savage, self-reliant

way, deemed himself a worthy foe of the best of them. Often he

endeavoured to persuade his companions to join him in a policy of active

resentment. Once, when remonstrated with on account of some offence

against the rights of property, he assumed a hostile disposition, and

calling upon others, took up a spear, determined if possible to rouse a

revolt. Few in number, the whites could not permit their authority to be

questioned, and a demonstration with a rifle silenced all show of

opposition. "Jimmy," disgusted with the docility of his fellows,

departed, uttering wrath and threatenings, and was no more seen in the

vicinity. This incident took place nearly twenty years ago on the

mainland. "King Jimmy, the Irreconcilable," died a natural death. He

does not sleep with his fathers on his native soil, but at Tam o' Shanter

Point, nor are any of his acts and deeds remembered, save that which

illustrates his hatred of the whites, and his bold and truculent spirit.

None of those who remain is equal to the last of the royal line in

stature. Toby stands 5 feet 7 1/2 inches. Tom, 5 feet 7 inches. Brow,

5 feet 2 3/4 inches, and Willie, 5 feet 2 inches. Tom's expanded chest

measures 36 1/2 inches, and Toby's, 36; Brow's, 34 1/2, Willie's,

34 inches.

CHAPTER III

ATTRIBUTES AND ANECDOTES

Blacks possess acquirements which white people cannot successfully

imitate, are industrious in fashioning weapons and in the invention and

practice of primitive forms of amusement, and are in many respects

entertaining subjects to those who apply themselves, though

superficially, to the study of their habits and customs. On the impulse

of the moment they are generous or cruel, erratic, purposeless, unstable

as water.

The cat's cradle of childhood's days, in the hands of a black who has

practised the pastime, becomes most elaborate. He makes complicated

designs never dreamt of by the whites--fish, palm-trees, turtles, snakes,

birds flying, men and women, etc. etc., the variety being endless. Toy

darts and toy boomerangs are common, and the system of signalling by

gesture comprehensive and excellent. The Queensland Government has taken

means for the preservation of knowledge of many of the sports and

pastimes, as well as the language and habits of the blacks, being

impressed with the urgency of so doing by the rapid decrease in their

numbers. Many have been hastened from the world by a new and seductive

vice. Chinese cultivators of bananas found the blacks useful, and

rewarded them with the ashes from their opium-pipes. Mixed with water the

dregs form a warm and comforting beverage, but its effects were

terrible. The fiery liquors of mean whites, and diseases contracted from

the depraved, killed off many of the original lords of the soil. Opium

was supplying the finishing touches when the Australian Federal

Government, by an act of conscious virtue, forbade its introduction to

the Commonwealth, save for use as a drug. Indirectly the blacks have

been saved from demoralisation which threatened to become

precipitate--that is to say, in those localities where the smuggling of

opium has been suppressed.

The dwindling away of the race is, however, inevitable. A few anecdotes

may perhaps throw unaccustomed light upon attributes not generally

understood, and show that the Australian aboriginal, uncouth savage as

he is, is not altogether devoid of smartness and good-humour.

COMMON AND INDIVIDUAL RIGHTS

Australian blacks have been referred to as socialists, and even

communists. Certainly they repudiate thrift, and may therefore be said

to side with some socialists, and their camp customs embody communistic

principles. The cunningness and zeal with which they enforce individual

rights in property may be cited in connection with a food tree. When a

neighbouring estate was first settled, in the jungle on the site

selected for the house were several magnificent bean-trees. One was

about to be felled, when an old man, chief of the camp close by, made it

known through an interpreter that food-bearing trees were not to be cut

down. Eventually a bargain was struck, the whole of the trees on the

spot being purchased from the old man, the pioneers being glad of the

opportunity of establishing goodwill by a friendly understanding. The

day following, another patriarch of the camp appeared and made it known

that he, too, had property rights in the trees, and demanded payment.

Without formally recognising his claim, but with the idea of

strengthening the bond of good-fellowship, his price was also paid.

Again a third old man made a similar demand, explaining that neither of

the others had the right of disposing of his individual interests. He,

too, was sent away content. In the course of a day or two a young man

presented his claim, expounding the law of the country and the camp,

which was to the purpose that no single person or any number of persons,

individually or collectively, was or were entitled to barter the rights

and property of another. The bean-trees especially were subject to the

law of entail. The old men, the young soothsayer explained, could not

legally deprive him of his rights to the fruit of the trees that had

been the property of his as well as their ancestors, though he,

disingenuously, was quite ready for a personal consideration to forego

his privileges. He, too, was for peace sake made happy; and it was

there and then explained by the settlers, definitely and determinedly,

that no more payment for the particular trees about to be sacrificed on

the altar of civilisation would be made. In future the laws of the camps

were to be restricted to the hundreds of other bean-trees in the jungle,

each of which, if wanted, would be the subject of special negotiation.

THE "DEBIL-DEBIL"

Blacks in their attempts to give verisimilitude to the "debil-debil"

generally describe that personage as having hands fitted with hooks or

sharp needles. An intelligent boy of the Cape York Peninsula added a few

thrilling details on an occasion, when, to allay his fears, his Boss had

promised to shoot the "debil-debil" should the boy be molested. "No

more carn shoot that fella, Boss. All asame sum-moke." The boy said that

the "debil-debil" had arms like the lawyer vine--long and set with

spurs--and dwelt in the heart of the mountains, in the thickest jungle.

"Subpose," said the terrified boy, "black fella might hear 'em, that

debil-debil tching out, altogether no more yabber little bit (keep

silence). Altogether tell 'um um-boi-ya (medicine man). That one

trow'um wookoo (message-stick) alonga scrub. He trow'um pire stick,

ung-kurra, eparra ung neera, arwonadeer (north, south, west, east). He

sit down little bit. Bi'mby that one ah-anaburra (scrub turkey) he plenty

'tching out. Altogether black fella make 'um big fella fire. He no more

sleep. He look out all time. Bi'mby, longa morning he altogether yan. He

looked out 'nother fella yamber (camp). Ole man plenty time bin yabba me

debil-debil before long time, bin catch 'em ole man ole woman. He no

more see 'em. He find 'em little bit yetin (skin) longa yil-gil-gil

(lawyer vine). Ole man bin yabba some time debil-debil 'tching out like

it big fella oor-bung-ah (big wind) first time; bi'mby tching out all

asame youn-me bin hear 'em. Black fella he no more see 'em nuthin. One

time altogether been see 'em like it sum-moke. Heyan. Debil-debil come

up. Me no bin see 'em. Me bin hear 'em one time. Me close up ar-tum-ena

(baby)."

Another boy gave quite a different personality to the "debil-debil!" "Big

fella. All asame dead man. All bone, no more meat." Eyes of fire were

added as finishing touches.

CLOTHING SUPERFLUOUS

The parents of our domesticated blacks not only never wore clothes, but

hardly knew what clothes were. They needed none for warmth. At anyrate,

blankets or cloaks beaten out of the inner bark of a particular fig-tree

(FICUS EHRETIOIDS) were the only covering they had. Not every one

possessed even a fig-tree blanket. During inclement weather they

squatted in their humpies, or braved the elements "with honour clad."

Thinking no evil, clothing for decency's sake was superfluous. Clothes

are worn at the present day, partly as a concession to the

fastidiousness of the whites, and largely from vanity. Our blacks are

exceedingly fond of dress; the more glaring and clashing the colours the

greater the joy of possession.

The party go off in the shimmer of Sunday's finery, and just out of

sight all will be discarded and "planted," for the favourite costume

for the walk-about is that of the previous generation. Having spent the

whole day in blissful innocence of clothes, they return in the evening

in their gaudy attire, fresh as from a comic garden-party.

BROTHER AND SISTER

As they grow up, brothers assume towards their sisters an attitude of

reserve almost amounting to repugnance. The boy will not eat anything

the sister has cooked, nor knowingly touch anything she has handled. The

more contemptuous and austere his bearing towards her the more proper it

is. Nelly's brother paid a visit to the island, and she cooked a huge

damper at the kitchen stove. When it was taken to the camp, hot and

fragrant, "Billy" at once inquired who had cooked it. Nelly, wishing

that her brother should not deprive himself of his share, told a white

lie in the one word, "Missis!" Billy ate heartily and was none the

worse, while Nelly, who is fond of Billy, notwithstanding his official

detestation of her, chuckled at the successful deception.

THE RAINBOW

One of childhood's most fascinating fables was, that at the places where

the rainbow touched the earth would be found a bag of gold and

glittering gems. Among some North Queensland blacks almost exactly the

same fairy tale is current. "Muhr-amalee," remarked a boy, pointing to

a rainbow which seemed to spring from the Island of Bedarra. "That fella

no good. Hot, burning. Alonga my country too many. Come out alonga

ground, bend over, go down. Subpose me go close up kill 'em along spear,

run away and plant. Bi'mby come back, find plenty red stone, yalla

stone. Fill 'em up dilly-bag. Old man bin tell 'em. Me no go close up

along Muhr-amalee. Too fright!"

SWIMMING FEATS

In their endurance as long-distance swimmers, and in the ease with which

they perform various incompatible operations in the water, there are few

to equal the coastal blacks of North Queensland. For a trifling

consideration they will successfully undertake feats which prove that

they are almost as much at home in deep water as upon land, and when put

to the test their strength and hardihood are extraordinary. Boys

employed on beche-de-mer boats become almost amphibious. Some, as they

swim and dive, collect the fish into a heap on the bottom of the sea

until they have a parcel worthy of being taken to the attendant dinghy,

alongside which they will come with arms so full as to restrict movement

to a singular wriggle of the shoulders. What would be an extremely

awkward burden for a white man on shore, the expert black boy carries as

he swims with case, in the course of his daily round and common task.

During the Princess Charlotte Bay cyclone one of the survivors, after an

absence of nearly twenty-four hours, came ashore. He explained that the

boat of which he had been one of the crew was "drowned finish," and that

the sea had taken him out towards the Barrier. He swam for a long time,

and at last got tired and went to sleep, and for the best part of that

frantic night he slept as he swam. Then the wind changed, and he came in

with it, landing very little the worse. Others, on the same occasion,

swam for fifteen and twenty hours; but "Dick" was the only one who

went far out to sea, had a night's rest, landed fairly fresh, and seemed

to accept the experience as a matter of course.

Again, three boys and a gin--Charley, Belle Vue, Tom and Mary--were

sailing out to a reef in a little dingy, when they sighted a turtle

basking on the surface. Charley and Belle Vue jumped overboard and seized

the turtle. It was a monster, and so strong that they called for help, and

Tom plunged in to their assistance. Mary, frightened of being alone in

the boat, also sprang overboard, taking her blanket with her, and the

boat speedily sailed and drifted beyond reach. Charley and Belle Vue at

once swam to a beacon marking a submerged reef about a mile away, but

Tom and Mary, being caught in the current, were swept past the only

available resting-place. They were 8 miles from shore. Tom soon began to

flounder, but Mary, keeping her heart and her precious blanket, cheered

him on, and, changing her course, took a "fair wind down," as she

afterwards said, towards a distant point of the mainland. Lifting the

giant despair from her boy's shoulders with encouraging words, holding

him up occasionally when he got tired, and clinging all the time to the

only piece of personal property she possessed, Mary eventually landed in

a quiet bay. Tom was so exhausted that she had to drag him up on the

sand, and having made him comfortable with her safe but sodden blanket,

she hurried into town to report the circumstances to the police. A boat

was sent to the rescue of Charley and Belle Vue, still clinging to the

beacon, and the derelict dinghy was picked up. Nothing was lost but the

turtle.

SMOKE SIGNALS

It is many years since a black boy at Port Darwin remarked casually to

his master, a Government official there, "Steamer him come on; him sit

down lame fella," and began to limp across the room. He said that the

steamer was a long way away; but "blackfella he make 'em smoke;

blackfella bin tell 'em."

Four days after the steamer GUTHRIE slowly entered the port with her

machinery badly disabled.

THUNDER FACTORY

A boy who had visited towns, listening intently to a reverberating peal

of thunder asked--"How make 'em that row, Boss? He got big wheel?"

Home keeping blacks have homely wits. Having no experience of the rumble

and rattle of traffic they ascribe to thunder a mysterious origin, and

indicate though with reserve, the very place where it is made. The swirl

of a creek in the mainland has excavated a circular water hole in a soft

rock, brick red in colour. This hole is the local thunder factory, and

the blacks were wont to hang fish hooks across it from pieces of lawyer

cane, with the idea of ensnaring the young thunder before it had the

chance of becoming big and formidable.

THE ORACLE

Divination by means of the intestines of animals is practised by the

blacks in some parts of North Queensland. A young gin died suddenly on

the lower Johnstone River. Immediately after, the young men of the camp

went out hunting, bringing back a wallaby. The entrails were removed,

and an old woman--the Atropos of the camp--stretched them between her

fingers in half-yard lengths, simultaneously pronouncing the title of a

tribe in the district. The tribe, the name of which was being uttered as

the gut parted, was denounced as the source of the witchcraft which had

occasioned the untimely death of the gin. Vengeance followed as a matter

of course.

A REAL LETTER

Sam, a boy living in the Russell River scrub, spoke thus to his

master:--

"One fella boy, Dick, he come up fight along me four days."

"How you know, Sam?" asked the boss.

"Dick, he bin make 'em this one letter," replied Sam, picking up a palm

leaf from which all the leaflets save seven, had been torn. Three of the

seven had been turned down at the terminal point, and Sam continued his

explanation. "He no come Monday, he no come Tuesday, he no come

Wednesday, he come Thursday," indicating the first upright leaflet.

Sam said that he had an outstanding quarrel with Dick and had expected

the challenge conveyed by the letter he had picked up on the track that

morning.

When Thursday came Dick appeared well armed, and the two had an earnest,

honourable and exhilarating combat and parted good friends.

A BLACK DEGENERATE

A remarkable case is in the early records of the Lower Murray (between

New South Wales and Victoria), and was quoted long since. A number of

blacks died in agonising convulsions. Some thirty had succumbed, before

a dear old German doctor, who wandered up and down the river, a loved

and welcome guest at every station, happened along when a gin was

stricken. He diagnosed strychnine poisoning. The greatest mystery

surrounded the affair, and some of the whites undertook to watch the

camp. A clue was furnished by the old doctor, who, when attending to the

dying gin, noticed that one of the men seemed to find her sufferings

most diverting. He laughed, wandered away, and returned time after time,

repeating to himself before each outburst--"My word, plenty kick it,

that fella!" Somebody remembered that this black, who rejoiced in the

name of Tommy Simpson, had been almost tickled to death when he saw a

dog dying at the station from strychnine. He was watched, and some of

the powder he had stolen from a bottle in the store discovered in a

piece of opossum skin inside a very dilapidated old hat. Taxed with the

crime, he made free admission of his guilt, but was apparently incapable

of realising that he had done any wrong. It seemed that his chief reason

for keeping his secret so long was that he wanted to have the fun all to

himself. The other blacks were very differently impressed; they

surrounded Tommy Simpson and speared him until he died. To the last,

Tommy's ruling frame of mind was surprise, and he went to his death

quite unable to understand why his fellows should have made such a fuss

about his little joke.

JUMPED AT A CONCLUSION

Occasionally black boys have the misfortune to do exactly the wrong

thing with the best intentions. A beche-de-mer schooner sadly in need of

a coat of paint, ran into a northern port and brought up alongside a

similar but tidy craft, which at the time was laid up. In obedience to

natural curiosity the captain went on board the idle vessel and had a

good look over her, paced off some of her dimensions and mentally

approved her lines. In the morning he brought out a quantity of black

paint with which a friend who had taken pity of the weather-beaten

condition of his vessel had presented him, and ordered his boys to begin

work. Then he went ashore, spending a most agreeable morning among his

friends. just before dinner a chum asked him what his boys were doing.

He replied, "Oh, before I left I set them to work to paint the ship."

"Do you know what ship they are painting?" asked the friend. "Yes! I am

jolly well sure it's mine." "Well, you had better go and see how they

are getting on." He went, and found all hands merrily at work painting

the strange vessel. They had in excess of industry covered one of her

neat white sides completely, having jumped at the conclusion that the

captain had bought her. It was an expensive blunder, and a practical

lesson in the chemistry of colours. A large quantity of white paint had

to be bought to smother the black coat, and another lot of black paint

for his own woe-begone craft.

PRIDE OF RACE

"Harry" was a splendid specimen of humanity. Tall, lithesome, handsome,

intelligent, proud of superior abilities, prouder of his style. In his

time he played many parts. A stockrider, when he would appear in a gay

shirt, tight white moleskins, cabbage-tree hat, flash riding-boots with

glittering spurs. A bullock driver, when his costume would be more

subdued, but when he would be fully equipped, even to the chirpy phrases

in which working bullocks are accustomed to be addressed. Then as a

vagrant black, when his attire would be nothing at all in camp, and

little more than a frowsy blanket when visiting the town. But in all of

his characters he had an unconstrained contempt for Chinese, and

delighted in ridiculing and frightening them. In the part of a

bullock-driver he drew up his team in front of a store. The manager

shouted--"Don't want that load here, Harry! You tak 'em to back store.

You savee?" The "savee" touched Harry's dignity. "What for you say

savee? You take me for a blurry Chinaman?"

Class distinction prevails even among the race. "Polly," in her own

estimation, was highly civilised, and posed haughtily before her

uncultured cousins. Looking across to the mainland beach one day, she

said--"Whiteman walk about over there, longa beach." Then, gazing more

fixedly, and with all possible disdain in her tones--"No; only nigger!"

Nearly all civilised blacks have exalted opinions of themselves. It is

told that Marsh, the aboriginal bowler, of Sydney, wanted to join the

Australian Natives' Association, and on being black-balled said--"Those

fellows, Australian natives! My people were leading people in

Australia when their people were supping porridge in Scotland or digging

potatoes in Ireland." When Marsh and Henry met as rival fast bowlers in

a match between Queensland and New South Wales, it was proposed to the

former that he should be introduced to the Queenslander. "What!" he

ejaculated--"that myall? No, thank you. It's quite bad enough to meet

him on the field. Why, the fellow would want to go in to tea with me.

Give him a 'possum." These yarns may be too good to be true, but they at

least illustrate a well-recognised phase of aboriginal character.

"YANKEE CHARLEY"

At rare intervals one finds a black who knows how to drive a bargain.

"Yankee Charley" came, badly wanting a shirt. The only one available

was valued at 2s. 6d., and Charley produced 2s., protesting that that

represented his total capital, the extreme limit of his financial

resources--his uttermost farthing, as it were. At that sum the Boss

disposed of the shirt, for the need of the stranger within his gates

threatened to become shocking, as "Yankee Charley" possessed few of

the "artificial contrivances that hold society together!" Retiring to

the scrub, Charley took off his ruined singlet, came back smiling in his

new shirt, and with delightful candour tendered 6d. for a flash

handkerchief. He got it for his smartness.

MYALL'S BAKING

When blacks are introduced to the ways of white men, singular, often

grotesque episodes occur. A big, shy, clumsy fellow endeavouring to put

on a shirt as a pair of "combinations" does cut an absurd figure, and

the first efforts of many meddling and unskilled cooks to make a

"damper" are often pathetic failures. Not long since a beche-de-mer

fisherman engaged a crew from the tablelands at the back of Princess

Charlotte Bay. Never having been on board a schooner before, and being

absolutely innocent of the ways of the whites, they found "damper"

unpalatable, and flour was given them that they might prepare it after

their own methods. Some nuts ("koie-ie," CRYPTOCARIA PALMERSTONI, for

example) blacks toast until the shell (impregnated with resin) starts

into a blaze and the kernel falls out. The kernels are then chewed and

ejected until sufficient dough is available for a cake, which is

flattened out between green leaves and toasted. The dough "rises" as

though leavened with yeast, but this lightness is considered a fault,

for the dough is taken out, squeezed between hands moistened with

spittle until it becomes sodden. Then it is bound again tightly in green

leaves in long rolls, and buried in the hot ashes till cooked. Such

cakes are said to be very nice. They must be nutritious for the blacks

among whom Koi-ie is one of the principal foods are fat and agile

fellows. These Princess Charlotte Bay boys cooked their flour in a

somewhat similar way. The result was a sodden, tough, dirty damper, the

sight of which roused the not usually tender susceptibilities of the

owner of the boat. Taking pity on the untutored boys, he had a proper

damper made with soda and acid and a due proportion of salt. It turned

out a beauty, so spongy and light that it almost lifted the lid off the

camp oven, in which it was baked. The boys accepted it, but not without

manifestations of doubt and suspicion. They presently returned in a

solid and unanimous deputation loudly proclaiming that the boss was a

humbug, and had cheated them, the bread being full of holes containing

no "ki-ki" whatever, while they made "ki-ki" as dense as the deck, which

they tapped with their feet significantly and about which there was no

palpably hollow fraud. At first the boss failed to understand, for the

blacks had little even of pidgin English. When he did realise the true

state of the case he wasted no breath in explanations. The blacks

catered for themselves in the future, and got fat and saucy on the diet

of plain flour and water, so cooked that sometimes it was like

half-burnt deal, and as often a sticky, ropy mess.

EVERYTHING FOR A NAME

To the blacks of North Queensland there is a great deal in a name. When

a piccaninny is born, the first request is--"You put 'em (or make 'em)

name belonga that fella!" When a strange boy, a myall, "comes in" he

wants a name, and until he gets it he is as forlorn as an ownerless dog.

Anything does, from "Adam" to "Yellow-belly" or "Belle Vue." He seems

as proud of the new possession as a white boy of his first pair of

trousers, and soon forgets his original name. "What name belonga you,

your country?" I asked an alert boy. "I bin lose 'em; I no find 'em.

Boss, he catch 'em alonga paper!"

THE KNIGHTLY GROWTH

Wallace, in his MALAY ARCHIPELAGO, gives an amusing account of a native

who was superbly vain of an isolated tuft of hair on the one side of his

chin, the only semblance of beard he possessed. A black boy on one of

the inland stations left with a mob of travelling cattle for the south.

When he returned after many days, two hairs had sprouted from a mole on

his cheek, and he was for ever fondling them with pride and pleasure.

"Hello! Jacky!" exclaimed the manager of the station, noticing him on

his return for the first time. "You catch gem plenty whisker now," and

feinted to pluck out the twin hairs.

Jacky started back in dismay. "You no broke 'em! You no broke 'em!"

Another boy showed that the cruel edge of vanity which prompts others to

dye their hair is felt by the race. White hairs began to mingle with the

black of his moustache, and one by one he plucked them out. The

moustache became thinner and thinner, until the lip was as bare as a

baby's cheek, while the fraudulently youthful appearance gave obvious

satisfaction.

HONOUR AND GLORY

As we sat enjoying the cool moonlight, Mickie announced that Jinny

desired an interview. "All right, Mickie, tell her come along." "No,

bi'mby. When finish wash 'em plate." That duty disposed of, Mickie--"Now

Boss." "Well, come along, Jinny. What you want?" "No, Boss; I no want

talk alonga you, Mickie humbug you. What for you humbug Boss, Mickie?"

Jinny was bashful, for the subject was momentous, touched her pride, and

had been depressing her gaiety for many weeks. Presently she came and

with emphatic deliberation said--"Boss--No--good--Missis--call--out--

Jinny! Jinny! When want wash 'em plate. More better you hammer 'em that

fella, all asame Essie!" Jinny did not wish that the missis should be

chastised, but that she should be summoned to the plate washing with the

pomp and ceremony of a dinner gong, as the maid used to do in a more

civilised home.

FIRE JUMP UP

Mickie and Jinny once paid a visit to town, and Jinny, making an

afternoon call, was invited to have a cup of tea. She said, "Never mind,

Missis. Fire, he no burn." A gas stove was available, and Jinny jumped

and exclaimed as the blue flame sprang from nowhere. Wherever the lady

of the house pleased to apply a match the fire came. Next morning Mickie

was brought round to witness the wonder, Jinny asking--"Missis. You

show 'em Mickie fire jump up all about!"

SLOP TEETH

A lady up North was asked by her black maid, whose face had been

terribly battered by her infuriated husband, to send to the shop for new

teeth, in payment of which she tendered half-a-crown, promising "two

bob more" as wages accumulated. This is a fact, and therefore

comparable with the anecdote which tells that a military bandmaster

demanded the return of a set of teeth supplied at the regiment's expense

to a cornet player who had been granted his discharge.

A FASCINATED BOY

Seas swamped a small cutter as she was beating across the bar of a

Northern river. Exerting themselves to the utmost, the owners, with two

black boys, managed to save the boat, but all the food on board was

ruined, and blankets and clothing saturated. Hungry and dejected the

party prepared to put away the time until the weather calmed. In the

afternoon, fortune smiled. Another cutter came in sight, and with the

assistance of those on shore, managed to get into safety and shelter.

All hands were liberally treated to needful refreshment. "Say when!"

said the cheery Boss, as he poured a revivifying dose of whisky into a

pannikin held by the expectant but shivering boy. The elixir gurgled and

glittered before his fascinated eyes until the pannikin held enough for

two stiff nobblers, without evoking any polite verbal restraint. "My

word!" said the Boss, at last, "that boy can't say when."

AWKWARD CROSS-EXAMINATION

Mickie and Jinny being privileged became familiar, and spoke all sorts

of confidences in the ears of their mistress. Visitors came, an old

friend and her daughters, a blonde and a brunette. The contrast in the

types of the girls puzzled Mickie. He took an early opportunity to

cross-examine one from whom he thought he could obtain confidential

information. "What Gwen sister belonga Glad?" he asked. "Yes, Mickie"

"Same mother?" queried Mickie. "Yes, of course." Then came without

hesitation or reserve the dumbfounding question: "Same father?"

THE ONLY ROCK

Some may sneer when absolute originality is claimed for the following

little anecdote, for almost a facsimile of it happens to be among the

most time-honoured of jests. Rounding Clump Point in a light

centre-board cutter, the Boss, who was steering, asked Willie, whose

local knowledge was being relied on: "Any stone here, Willie?" "Yes,"

was the response, "one fella." The words were yet on the lips of the boy

when the centre-board jumped with a clang. "Why you no tell me before?"

angrily remonstrated the Boss. Willie--"No more. Only one fella. You

catch 'em!"

SAW THE JOKE

Our blacks saw "friends" on the mainland beach, and lit two signal

fires. Mickie said, "Me tell 'em that fella bring basket."

Cross-examined, he had to admit that the two fires merely signified a

general invitation to his mainland friends to come across. Then--"That

fella got 'em basket, me get 'em." A friend doubted the range of the

black's vision, which was truly telescopic, as we frequently verified

with a pair of powerful field glasses, but not to be thought inferior in

this respect, he solemnly declared that he saw Jinny's cousin on the

beach strike a light for his pipe. At first the irony of the remark was

not appreciated, then Jinny (after vainly peering across the sea), saw

the joke and gave a wild exhilarating exhibition of amusement. She sat

down and rolled about shouting and screeching, hardly able to tell

Mickie the fun, and when he was let into it the pantomime was the more

extravagant. The outburst continued throughout the day at intervals,

Jinny apologising for her boisterousness with reiterations--"Misser

Johnssing say he been see 'em cousin belonga me light 'em pipe!" Jinny

still rehearses the story at frequent intervals, and with hysterical

outbursts.

ZEBRA'S VANITY

To half civilised blacks a racecourse is an earthly paradise; a jockey,

a sort of demi-god. A lady shut up her house one race day, leaving

"Zebra" in charge. Returning, she was amazed to find one of the big

rooms open, and to hear the buzz of a sewing machine. Zebra,

trouserless, scarcely took the trouble to look round as he informed

her--"Me make 'em trouser all a same Yarraman (horse)." His desire for

tight riding breeches was not restrained, and the consequence was in the

nature of a disaster.

LAURA'S TRAITS

Laura was a bad girl. Like Topsy, she acknowledged her naughtiness, but

never attempted to reform. A considerable quantity of milk had

disappeared from a jug, and her mistress asked--"You been drink milk,

Laura?" "No, missis, me no drink 'em." But the tell-tale moustache of

cream still lingered on her lips. Laura lived in a quiet home, where

there were no children, and few dishes to wash. The State Orphanage was

not far away, and the children thereof paraded every day on their way to

the State school. Gazing at the long procession marching two by two

Laura, with a far away look in her eyes, said--"Missis. Me no like wash

'em plate belonga these fellas!" Laura was wont to be sent to Sunday

school, where her ways were precise and demure, and where her natural

smartness gained her credit, and many good conduct tickets. Once she was

overheard at her devotions--"Please, Mr God, make missis strong woman,

make missis good woman!" She was sick, and her mistress insisted upon

administering castor oil, but Laura made a fuss. At last her mistress

said--"All right, Laura, suppose you no take 'em medicine, I go for

doctor." "No, no, missis. Me die meself!"

A variety troupe visited the town, and Laura was taken to a performance.

Among the "freaks" were General Mite and his consort. Laura came back

with this proud boast--"I bin shake hands alonga piccaniny!"

ROYAL BLANKETS

Nelly was extravagantly fond of pictures; anything, from an illustrated

advertisement up, pleased her, and when the subject was not very obvious

to her she would indifferently gaze lovingly upon it upside down. A pair

of fine photographs of King Edward and Queen Alexandra in all the

sumptuousness of their coronation robes was shown her, and she was told

that "fella King belonga whiteman. That fella Queen wife, you know."

Putting her democratic forefinger on each alternately, Nelly said--"That

fella man; that fella Missis! My word! Got 'nother kind blanket!"

HIS DAILY BREAD

The Government of Queensland is conscientiously performing the duty of

smoothing the pillows of the dying race. On the coast several mission

stations have been established where the blacks of the neighbourhood are

gathered together and, under discipline tempered with a strong religious

element, taught to take care of themselves. The system is under the

supervision of an experienced official, entitled the "Chief Protector

of Aboriginals," and he tells a story which throws rays of light in more

than one direction.

A plump boy, who several months before had been consigned to a mission

station quite out of the neighbourhood, presented himself at the head

office, and with a rather rueful countenance answered a few of the

preliminary inquiries of the Protector. Confidence having been gained,

particular questions were asked.

"Yis," said the boy, "me bin stockrider belonga Yenda. Come down alonga

town have spell."

"But you belong to Fraser Island mission station!"

"Yis, me bin alonga that place."

"Why you no stop? That very good place."

"Nahr! No blurry good."

"You get plenty tucker--plenty everything that place!"

This provoked a trailing exclamation of dissent and disgust. "N-a-hr!

Blenty ask it--no get 'em. Ebery morning tell that big fella Boss (with

an upward jerk of the head) gib it daily-bread. Dinner-time tell it gib

it daily-bread. One time more alonga tea tell it that big fella Boss gib

it daily-bread."

"Well, you get plenty."

"N-a-hr! No get 'em. Get 'em corn (with a spit) all asame horse."

Hominy, with prayer, is the standing dish at that station.

HUMAN NATURE

Among the most cunning of civilised blacks was a gentleman, well up in

years, known as Michael Edward. He had been everywhere and had seen

everything, and was full of what we call worldly wisdom. His conceit in

himself led him to eat abundantly, drink all he could and at anybody's

expense, smoke continuously, do as little work as possible, though

apparently with lavish expenditure of industry, dress flashily and talk

big. In pursuit of these things he behaved as should a cute student of

human nature. Sent by Mrs Jenkins, his then mistress, with a message, he

arrived as some tempting pastry was taken from the oven. He eyed it all

with such riotous admiration, that an invitation to taste a tart was

felt compulsory. Michael Edward assented with a "Yus, please, Missis."

The tart was but a trifle light as air in his capacious maw, and another

went the same way with loud smacking of huge lips. Then, with a lively

sense of the continuance of such favour, he said--"My word, Missis you

mo' better cook than Missis Jenkin!"

A police magistrate had a blackfellow in his employ very much addicted

to beer. The black was brought before His Worship charged as a "drunk

and disorderly." The magistrate lectured him severely, but paid his fine

on condition that he would never drink again. A month later the culprit

was again in the court, and the magistrate, who was rather in love with

his own eloquence, proceeded to read the offender a severe lecture and

to threaten him with awful punishment At the most impressive point the

black broke in with--"Go on, Croker! Shut up and pay 'em money. Me want

finish 'em fence!"

AN APT RETORT

A meeting between a steamer smartly captained and a sailing boat steered

by a smart black boy familiar with the rules of the road at sea was

taking place. The steamer having too much way on, the boat narrowly

escaped being run down. "Why didn't you keep out of the road," yelled

the captain, "Why do you let the nigger steer?" Tom in reply, "Why you

no luff up? You got blurry steamer, I no got 'em!"

MISSIS'S TROUSERS

Lady Constance Mackenzie is not the only bold female who rides astride

in befitting costume. On some North Queensland cattle stations,

squatters' wives and daughters have adopted divided skirts, and black

gins employed as stockriders wear shirts and trousers, which are

returned to the store when not in active service. One bleak evening--and

it can be bleak on the North-Western Downs--the tender heart of a new

jackeroo storekeeper was touched by the sight of two black boys quaking

with the cold, the attire of each being limited to a singlet tugged down

to its extreme limit.

"You no got trousers?" he asked.

"Baal got 'em!"

"All right. Me give you fella some," and the storeman produced two pairs

well worn, which were thankfully accepted.

Half an hour later one of the boys returned, bursting with indignant

language. "What for, you blurry fool. You bin gib it my missis's

trousers?"

DULL-WITTED

At a western station the manager, in order to save a fence newly

erected, thought to satisfy the blacks by leaving a loose coil of wire

here and there for spear heads. But instead of taking that generous

hint, the natives invariably cut out from the fence what they wanted. On

another station in the same district, when a fence was under

construction small coils of loose wire were left every few hundred yards

as a tribute or free will offering; but in this case they again

overlooked the loose stuff and cut what they wanted from the strained

wire.

STRATEGY

Incomprehensibly dull as blacks frequently are they occasionally exhibit

shrewdness which is all the more remarkable because of its

unexpectedness. As the station hands were busy erecting buildings in

newly opened up country, the blacks sent an envoy to engage their

attention while others of the tribe cut off the iron bracing from the

paddock gates wherewith to make tomahawks. They succeeded in completely

despoiling one gate before they were disturbed.

LITERAL TRUTH

A black boy of more than ordinary intelligence, who had been sent to

fill a couple of tubs with water, sauntered back with a self-satisfied

air and said--"Me finish 'em!"

The master found that the boy, as a preliminary, had fitted one tub into

the other.

MAGIC THAT DID NOT WORK

Under the spell of the first sensations of Christianity, Lucy found and

took unauthorised possession of a gold cross. Retiring to a secluded

spot on the bank of the river, she hung the cross to a string round her

neck, imagining it to be a charm, by the magic of which she would become

a white girl. Twenty-four hours of patient expectancy passed without any

change in Lucy's complexion, so she lost faith in the golden symbol, and

bartered it to a Malay pieman for cakes. Then good Christian folks

charged her with the theft of the cross, and the pieman with receiving

it, knowing it to have been stolen. Lucy was pardoned, but the pagan

went to prison.

ANTI-CLIMAX

A boy was asked if he thought Jimmy Governor (a notorious desperado who

had given the New South Wales police much trouble) ought to be hanged.

"Baal. No fear hang 'em; too good."

"What you do then?"

"Me! me punch 'em nose!"

LITTLE FELLA CREEK SAILOR

Ponto, a boy well known in North Queensland, and one of the few

aboriginals whose memory is honoured by tombstones, was once taken by

his master to Sydney. He saw many wonders, being particularly impressed

by the appearance of the men-of-war's-men.

A month or so after his return he was away among the mountains with his

master and a friend who was wearing a jersey.

"You sailor, Bob?" asked Ponto.

"Yes, Ponto. I'm sailor-man."

"No. You no sailor," responded Ponto decisively.

"Yes. I tell you true. I'm sailor."

Ponto: "Ah! me think you no big salt-water sailor. You only little fella

creek sailor. You no got jacket--flash collar, knife alonga string!"

A FATEFUL BARGAIN

A squatter, travelling on foot with his black boy, came to a river

almost a "banker," and there was no recourse but to swim. After

Charcoal had taken a couple of trips with the clothes, the Boss told the

boy to swim alongside him, in case of emergency. Halfway across, just as

the Boss was feeling that there was some risk in swimming a flooded

river in which were many snags, Charcoal cheerily observed--"Suppose you

drowned finish, Boss, you gib me you pipe?" Summing up all the

possibilities in a second, the Boss gasped out--"No; you bin get pipe

when I'm across!" The boy's aid was prompt and effective.

EXCUSABLE BIAS

Two of the beachcombing class resumed an oft-recurring discussion on the

seaworthiness of their respective dinghies. Tom, the silent black boy, a

more experienced boatman than either, listened as he watched his own

frail bark canoe dancing like a feather in response to every ripple.

"Tom!" shouted one of the disputants, "suppose you want to go out in

big wind and big sea, which boat you take? This one belonga me, or that

one belonga your Boss?"

Tom glanced at the boats with the eye of an expert, paused in the

exercise of his judgment, and said with emphasis--"Me take 'em my boat!"

THE TRIAL SCENE

"Boiling Down," a boy with a not very reputable past, had once stood his

trial for a serious offence. On returning to his free hills, he was wont

to describe with rare art the trial scene.

Clearing a patch of ground, he would place one chip to represent the

judge--"big fella master"; a small chip would be His Honour's associate;

twelve chips were the jurymen; three were the lawyers; a big chip

between two others was "Boiling Down" with attendant policemen, and

many scattered about stood for the audience.

Having arranged his properties, the boy would proceed.

"Big fella master, he bin say--'Boinin' Down, you hear me? You

guinty--you not guinty?' Me bin say 'Guinty!'"

At this point "Boiling Down" invariably broke into such paroxsyms of

laughter that further utterance was impossible. Often as he attempted

it, his narrative of the proceedings ended in such violent mirth that

his hearers could not restrain themselves from joining in. They were

obliged to acknowledge that he looked upon the affair as the funniest

incident of his life.

A REFLECTION ON THE HORSE

A boy accustomed to see his master--the owner of a station--jump his

horse over the gate instead of stopping to open it, tried to follow. The

horse cantered up grandly, seemed to gather himself for the jump, and

baulked. The boy shot out of the saddle and over the gate. As he picked

himself up and shook the dust from his clothes he glared back at the

horse, saying--"You blurry liar!"

TRIUMPH OF MATTER OVER MIND

Out on a station in the Burketown district an athletic black boy was

employed. Trained by some friends, Charley developed such fleetness of

foot that it was decided to enter him in sports which took place at

Normanton and Croydon. In order that the public might be properly

surprised, it was planned that Charley should run into second place at

Normanton, and that at Croydon all possible honours were to be his.

Immediately before starting at Normanton, Charley was told that he was

not to win, because his backers wanted to make big money at Croydon.

Charley ran a good second most of the way, made a spurt, and breasted

the tape yards to the good.

Taken aside, his friends angrily remonstrated with him. "Look here,

Charley, what's the matter? I bin tell you run second. You come

first--you spoil everything!"

"Carn help it, Dick. Carn help it. Me bin bolt."

THE RUSE THAT FAILED

Miners in isolated camps where writing paper is not always available,

scribble their orders for rations upon hastily tom margins of

newspapers. A cute old black fellow named Bill who had frequently been

entrusted with such notes and had borne away goods presented a scrap of

paper innocent of writing at the store.

"What? This from Tom?" asked the storekeeper naming one of his customers

while he ran his eye over the paper.

"Yowi! Tom bin make 'em."

"What this fella talk?"

"That fella talk plour; sugar, tea; two stick Derby," and, as a

brilliant after thought--"bottle rum!"

"All right, by and bye," remarked the storekeeper.

The old man waited, and when it at last dawned upon him that his dodge

for the pledging of Tom's credit had failed, stole away, convinced no

doubt that there was some magic in the making of letters that he did not

quite comprehend.

THE BIG WORD

A tracker, known as Billy Williams--who had passed out of the police

service after many years of duty during which he had added largely to

his burden of original sin and knowledge of English--stole a valuable

diamond ring from the landlord of an hotel. Detected, and promptly

brought before two justices of the peace, Billy pleaded guilty, and was

sentenced to three months' imprisonment.

While escorting him to the lockup, the officer in charge remarked--

"Well, Billy, you lucky fella. You only get three months. I been think

you in for a sixer."

Billy--"By golly, Jack, me bin think me be disqualified for life."

MICKIE'S VERSION

Mickie is apt at repeating the sayings of others. Often his rendering of

a commonplace becomes humorous by reason of a slight verbal twist. As

the boys toiled to supplant a glorious strip of primeval jungle by a few

formal rows of bananas, the boss, glancing over the ruined vegetation,

remarked in encouraging tones

"Well, we are getting on fine! Getting on like a house on fire!"

For half an hour or so the boys hacked and chopped away at the vines and

trees, and then Mickie swept the scene with a comprehensive glance,

saying--"We getting on good fella now. All a same burning down house."

HONOURABLE JOHNNY

Johnny was much averse from work. "Work, work, work, all asame

bullocky," as he put it, rasped on his feelings. At midday he was taking

his case, while others toiled packing stones on a breakwater. One of

them called out--"Why you no work, Johnny? You sit down all the time."

Johnny--"Me bin work close up daylight. You lazy black niggers only

work when Boss look out."

THE TRANSFORMATION

The wife of a squatter was about to leave the station for a few years,

that her daughters might have the opportunity of acquiring

accomplishments unobtainable in the Bush. When the hour of departure

arrived, the blacks about the place loudly expressed their sorrow. One

softhearted creature exclaimed amid the tears--"Good-bye, Miss

Madge--good-bye, Miss Yola; me no see little girls any more. Two fella

going away, try learn be lady!"

MONEY-MAKING TRICK

A boy who had visited a town and had been taken to a circus, gathered

the camp together on the night of his return, and having given an

account of the wonders he had seen, announced that he could make money.

Satisfaction at such gift being tempered by doubt, the boy took his

stand before the expectant semicircle, and having admirably mimicked a

conjuror's patter, shouted--"Money!" A half-crown flashed in the air-to

be deftly caught and exhibited on the boy's palm.

This trick was repeated nightly. Conscious of the independence that

money gives, the whole camp became demoralised, until investigation

showed that the boy had a trained confederate in the person of his gin,

who, standing apart, on the word, flicked the half-crown in the air. The

boy lost his reputation as a maker of money, and his sole coin that

self-same night.

HONOURABLE CHASTISEMENT

At a camp of the Native Mounted Police the sergeant reported a trooper

for beating his gin. "What you bin doing, Paddy?" asked the

sub-inspector. "You bin hammer 'em Topsy?" Paddy, at the salute--"Yes,

sir, please sir, me bin hammer 'em that fella. That fella too flash; me

no bin hammer 'em all asame black-fella. Hammer 'em all asame white

man, alonga strap." Considering the customary means a black adopts to

correct the indiscretions of his spouse, Paddy's offence was judged far

too trivial for punishment. Topsy, too, was quite vain that Paddy had

chastised her with all dignity and indulgence of a white man.

"AND YOU TOO"

Two ladies, who were wont to meet at infrequent intervals, spent the

delightful morning in the settlement of arrears of gossip, while two

black gins sat in the shade of a mango-tree, smoked incessantly and did

nothing placidly. At dinner-time the latter began to chatter volubly,

and the mistress of the house, in an outburst of vicarious energy,

called from the verandah--"Come, Topsy--come, Rosey. You do nothing all

day. You two fella talk all the time."

Rosey--"Yes; me fella yabber, yabber, plenty--all asame white woman."

PARADISE

The beliefs of blacks on the subject of "the otherwhere" seem to be

varied and adjustable to individual likes and predilections. Some indeed

have no faith whatever in statements as to existence following upon

death. Others assert that a delightful country is reached after a long

and pleasant journey, that there reunion with relatives and friends

takes place, and happiness is in store for all, good and bad alike.

An intelligent boy was asked if after death all went along the same road

to the aboriginal paradise. He was reminded that he was a good fellow,

and that one of the members of the camp was notoriously a rogue.

"Mootee go along a you, all asame place? That fella no good. You good

fella."

"Yes," he answered. "All one track me fella go. Good track--blenty

tchugar-bag, blenty hegg, blenty wallaby, close up. You no wan' run

about. Catch 'em blenty close up. Bi'mby me go long way. Me come more

better country--blenty everything. Father belonga me sit down. He got

two good young fella gins. My word, good one gins. He say--'Hello! you

come up? You sit down here altogether. Two fella good gins belonga

you!'"

This was paradise!

CHAPTER IV

AND THIS OUR LIFE

"I would admonish the world that all persons, indifferently, are

not fit for this sort of diversion."

Whereas the average town-dweller could not endure the commonplaces of

Nature which entertain me, rouse my wonder, enliven my imagination, and

gratify my inmost thoughts, so his pursuits are to me devoid of purpose,

insipid, dismally unsatisfactory. To one whose everyday admission

(apology if you like) is that he is not as other men are--fond of society

and of society's occupations, pastimes, refinements, and (pardon)

illusions--the unsoiled jungle is more desirable than all the prim parks

and clipped gardens; all this amplitude of time and space than the one

"crowded hour." Here I came to my birthright a heritage of nothing save

the most glorious of all possessions: freedom--freedom beyond the dreams

of most men in its comprehensiveness and exactitude. These few haphazard

notes refer to the exercise of rare independence. They cannot be otherwise

than trivial and dull, but they at least fulfil the purpose to which I was

pledged. They reveal my puny efforts to be none other than myself. So

tranquil, so uniform are our days, that but for the diary--the

civilised substitute for the notched stick--count of them might be lost.

And this extorts yet another confession. One year, Good Friday passed,

and Easter-time had progressed to the joyful Monday, ere cognisance of

the season came. Speedy is the descent to the automaton. A mechanical

mis-entry in the diary threw all the orderly days of the week into a

whirling jumble. We knew not Wednesday from Thursday, nor Thursday from

Friday, though we calculated and checked notes of the transactions and

traits of successive days. To what purpose was the effort to memorise

one day from another when all were precisely alike in colour and

uneventfulness? Each day had been blue--radiantly blue--nothing more. And

the entries in the diary set at naught dogmatic assertions of disproof.

But the steamer cuts a deep weekly notch. We jolted into it and became

harmonised once more with the rigid calendar of the workaday world.

Thus we keep the noiseless tenor of our way, finding in life if not

great and gaudy pleasures, at least content and relief from many of the

vexations that gnaw away the lives of the multitude. Though it was

acknowledged a long time ago to be--indecorous--an abominable thing for a

man to commend his ways; though his mode of living may not commend

itself to others; though it may seem blank and colourless, thin and

watery, devoid of expectation, and the hope of fame, name, and that kind

of success which comes of the acquirement of riches, yet--and in a spirit

of thankfulness be it said--the obscure and minor part the writer plays

in the tragic-comedy of life affords gratification. He does what he

likes to do. He frankly confesses that he sought isolation because of

the lack of those qualities which make for dutiful citizenship, because

of indifference to the ordinary enchantments of the kaleidoscopic world,

not because of any lack of appreciation of the wisdom of the majority.

He has dared to be what he is, rather than submit to be pulled this way

and that on the rack of fashion and custom.

Remember that "the measure of choosing well is whether a man likes what

he has chosen." Other men have other ranks to take, other fates to

command. Do not politicians and publicists; professional men and princes

of trade; those who toil for others, with brain or hands; the charitable

and the miserly; those who pine if removed from the noise and breath of

the crowd; those who spend their days in meditation and study; those who

live conscientiously every moment in "the gateway of the life eternal";

those who are at enmity to law and order; the honest toiler and the

impostor, the thief and the rogue, each and all respectively find

pleasure in the particular walk of life he elects to take? "Each to the

favourite happiness attends." When God gave manna to His people, every

Israelite found in it what best pleased him. "The young tasted bread,

the old honey, and the children oil." No doubt an expert burglar feels

as keen a sense of joy in the planning and execution of a deed of

darkness demanding originality, skill, daring and resourcefulness, as

does the humane surgeon in the performance of an operation for the

salvation of a valuable life, or as does his lordship the bishop in the

delivery of a homily overflowing with persuasive eloquence. The burglar

has his appreciation of pleasure, and the others theirs; and so long as

the pleasures of the individual are not immoral and dishonourable, do

not trespass upon the rights and liberties of others, let each pursue

that which allures.

In the long run he will find himself responsible to himself; and if his

days have been ill spent, and his opportunities slighted, his the

punishment and the remorse. But--

"If the day and the night are such that you greet them with joy, and

life emits a fragrance like flowers and sweet-scented herbs, is more

elastic, more starry, more immortal--that is your success."

End of Project Gutenberg's The Confessions of a Beachcomber, by E J Banfield