Confessions of a Beachcomber by Edmund James Banfield (funny books to read TXT) 📕

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!"