Читать книгу Poison Under Their Lips - Mark Svendsen - Страница 4

Aboard the s.s. Leichhardt,

On the High Seas,

off the Colony of Queensland.

11th February, 1876.

Dear friend,

It has been more than a week now since last I confided in you. We have been so busy in preparation for our great adventure into the wilds of Queensland. Where to begin? Perhaps even before my last entry, since some things, as always, remain unsaid.

I should give a full account of my feelings before leaving Brisbane, the capital of this Colony. It was here we had been training for two weeks. To be honest, (as always!), I was sick to death of this work and yearned to be gone.

Lieutenant Wheeler is a strict taskmaster, but I am sure much of what he has to teach me of bushcraft will be of vital import when we come at last into the wild scrubs. As the Lieutenant puts it so wryly,

‘Better to be safe than sorry,’ to which he adds, ‘or dead!’ I am sure he is right in this, as in all matters of command, and I follow him as dutifully, I hope, as befits a cadet officer.

Still, Father ensured my horse- and marks-manship were first class from an early age, and I have had much cause for practice on hunts around the Adelaide Hills before embarking on this career. Nevertheless I accepted this training, often under the watchful eye of Sergeant Thomas, as Lieutenant Wheeler was out on a recruitment drive for blackfellows to join our Troop from the surrounding tribes.

Sergeant Thomas, being a Welshman, loves to sing almost as much as I do, though we have had little opportunity at the Police Barracks in Brisbane. Such frivolities were rather much frowned on there, as well you may imagine.

Finally, though, I had endured my training and we were ready to leave.

All Through the Night

(Traditional Welsh lullaby)

Love, fear not if sad thy dreaming,

All through the night.

Tho’ o’er-cast bright stars are gleaming,

All through the night.

Joy will come to thee at morning.

Life with sunny hope adorning.

Though sad dreams may give dark warning,

All through the night,

Angels watching ever round thee,

All through the night.

In thy slumbers close surround thee,

All through the night.

They should of all fear disarm thee,

No forebodings should alarm thee,

They will let no peril harm thee,

All through the night.

On the morning of the day of our departure my anticipation was fearfully keen. I slept only fitfully through the night previous, dreams of armed encounters with the blacks plaguing my repose. I awoke before dawn and rose quickly. By first light I had polished my boots, my buttons, my cap badge, my carbine, my belt buckle, my bandolier and all the ten brace of pistols which we would carry with us. (I must laugh at my fretful self, but still, the feelings were unbearable!)

The Lieutenant ensured all firearms and ammunition (some two thousand rounds) were with us at all times, so as not to fall into unscrupulous hands. The Troopers are only ever allowed ammunition when a dispersal is imminent and they may need to fire in self-defence. As Lieutenant Wheeler pointed out, the wild blacks were often agitated at being forced to ‘move on’ and sometimes took drastic action to defend their position. It was then the carbines were to be fully loaded.

When he arose, after 7 o’clock, Lieutenant Wheeler managed a slight smile at my eagerness, despite his being heavy-headed and irritable after an overly fond farewell to his lady and gentlemen friends around the town. Such pleasures would have to wait at least three years for me, until I reach my legal age at twenty-one, though the aftermath of drinking to excess seems not worth the frivolous state gained when under its influence.

Taking advantage of my enthusiasm, however, the Lieutenant ordered me to polish his sabre and chain as well as his boots, etc. Although this was a duty usually delegated to Trooper Toby, who was a little put out at my taking his part, I readily complied, vexed at the slightest reason for delay to our departure.

The Lieutenant made the point on several occasions that the Leichhardt, a coastal trading packet and our conveyance up the coast to Rockhampton, would leave with the tide no earlier than 11 o’clock. ‘Time and tide,’ he told me as piously as he was able, through what seemed to be a damnable headache, ‘wait for no man.’ Then, laughing unkindly at my obvious distress, admonished that there would be time enough for me to ‘christianize’ the natives, if I could only get onto the boat without strangling someone. It was an accurate assessment of my condition and I tried to calm my nerves.

At approximately 9 o’clock, we assembled on parade under the direction of Sergeant Thomas. Our Troop consisted of Lieutenant Wheeler, as Commanding Officer, Sergeant Thomas as his Second-in-Command and myself as Cadet Officer, being the only white men in the party. Further to us there were six native Troopers, all of the same rank, though two were especially skilled as trackers. Our ‘boys’ ranged in age from twenty to forty-five years. All were recruits from the tribes surrounding Brisbane. When we travel north, our Troopers will be as alien as we are to the tribes we will be called upon to disperse.

Lieutenant Wheeler explained that the policy of taking blacks from tribes different from those with whom we would deal meant that, ‘… they will not abscond for fear of being murdered alone in the bush, just as many white shepherds have been before them. Nor will they betray us to the local wild blacks who, given the opportunity, are likely to massacre us all in our beds heedless of race or creed!’

It seems to me that this policy, though harsh, will keep our Troopers disciplined and alert. Such a system comforts me greatly.

After drilling us with carbines presented, the Sergeant handed the parade to Lieutenant Wheeler, who gave us a stirring speech regarding our duty in keeping the peace and dispersing blacks troublesome to Christian settlers and our allegiance to the Queen. Our Troopers didn’t seem to understand most of the speech, but they joined in heartily when led by the Lieutenant in giving three cheers for Victoria, the Empire and Queensland. Then we wheeled out of the Police Barracks and were away at last.

Our small, self-important procession marched gravely through the dusty streets of Brisbane Town. The horses were to be waiting for us in Rockhampton, where they had been stabled for Native Police use. The baggage, such as it was, had been delivered to the wharf for loading the previous afternoon. The pistols and ammunition were carried by the six Troopers, two to each box. We marched much further than we needed to reach the wharves. Suffice it to say though that we delighted in our unnecessary excursion. Green duck twill trousers, trimmed with black braid, flannel shirts under trim military jackets, polished boots, cocked caps, full bandoliers and carbines at the shoulder, made me feel justly proud to be taking up with such a fine Troop of Policemen. As we passed, gentlemen doffed their hats, small children saluted and marched beside us, and a couple of waggish young scholars who should have been at school gave us three cheers. We felt, and no doubt were to the public eye, quite the Queensland Hussars!

But enough of sinful boasting. I know I should not be so prideful but, to be honest, this is how I felt. I trust I will learn more discipline of mind and heart after I have served my apprenticeship with the Native Police.

One incident occurred, however, which soured the whole occasion for us. As we neared the river a family of blacks — dressed very poorly, as are most fringe dwellers, in dirty cast-off rags — stood at the street’s edge watching us pass. The woman called to her nearly naked children in her language and they huddled behind her filthy skirt. A ravaged-looking creature deserving of sympathy, she herself stood behind her man. He kept his eyes cast down until the first of our Troop passed by. He then raised his face with a prideful, almost belligerent gaze and spat at Trooper Toby. Immediately Toby broke ranks, raising his carbine butt to strike the wasted being. But Sergeant Thomas, without breaking step, barked him back into file. As the Lieutenant passed at the rear of the procession, he called to me to mark the face of that black well, as no doubt we would meet the troublemaker in the bush one day and we could deal with him there, where there wouldn’t be such a ‘blow’ about our form of discipline.

I did not understand the Lieutenant’s remark but, looking at the poor wretch, I found it hard to believe him capable of more trouble than the little he had already caused. He seemed quite devastated by the drink and showed no signs of care for his personal appearance or hygiene, nor for that matter, for the health of his family. Yet gazing at the creature gave me the resolve I needed to temper my eagerness. Here was the reason, in person, why I must pursue my work with the Native Police with vigour and diligence. It is my Christian duty to ensure that none of the untouched savages should come to this state. They need to be shown, with firmness and determination, that they should not come in contact with settlers at all unless they are ready to fully embrace our British customs and ways. Otherwise they must be kept separate from colonists for their own sake. As the Lieutenant says, those who will not submit to the necessary discipline of Christian civilization must be banished from it for good.

It is a hard truth, but after long talks with those Christian men most knowledgeable on the matter, it seems that it is the duty of the Church and the State to educate the blacks who wish to become part of the Empire and its ways, whilst keeping those who do not wish to partake of the boons of English civilization apart from the rest of society. I can only hope that, when I am called upon to enforce this separation, I will recall the faces of such a wretched family, without hope for happiness, nor a future for their children, and remember that sometimes one must be cruel to be kind.

But there I go, as Mother would say, spouting off speeches like a politician. I must now accept the discipline of being a Policeman and merely following orders.

I leave you to write to Mother and Father. I do miss them so.

Until next time. I am,

Arthur Bootle Wilbraham

Told by the Camp Fire

‘Poor Blacks!’ you was saying, was you?

Well, if you ain’t got no call

To speak on ’em any different,

Don’t mention ’em at all.

For it ’allus riles me somehow,

To hear you chaps from South

A-talking to us old bushmen,

With soft sawder in yer mouth.

And if yer think I’m blowin’

Without no reason, why

I’ll give yer me own true story

God knows that I don’t lie.

It were early in the eighties,

Not many years ago,

But exactly what the date is

I don’t jest rightly know.

For where we lived were lonesome,

And Sal — my wife — and I

Most often took no notice

Jest how the days slipped by.

And I’d got a nurse from the township

(By the name of Mrs Mogg)

Who took no heed of nothing,

Without ’twere a drop of grog.

For Sal, you see were in trouble,

As comes to the most of wives;

And women likes women near ’em,

At them per’ods of their lives.

I ain’t got much book-learnin’,

And I ain’t prepared to say

If that kid knowed its future,

When it was born that day.

But it squawked and cried most ’orful,

And better men nor me

Says kids is wise, becos’ they cries

The minit they can see.

And Sal seemed real happy,

Tho’ lookin’ orful white;

And when she showed the kid to me,

Her eyes, with love, was bright.

And when I rode off next mornin’

To where the cattle ran,

I thought of the look she give me,

And I felt a better man.

I found the blacks had bin there,

And had broken up the mob;

And to get them put together

Give me a longish job.

So agin’ I got to the slip rails

’Twere about this time at night;

And it struck me then as queerish,

That I couldn’t see no light.

I rode up past the stockyard,

And unsaddled in the dark;

And I ses to myself as I done it —

‘Why don’t them blamed dogs bark?’

I walked up to the humpy

And through the open door,

And fell, tripped up by somethin’

As lay upon the floor.

I ses — ‘Sal! Why what’s the matter?’

And then I strikes a light;

O God! to think a man should look

On such a ’orful sight.

Sal were a-1yin’ foremost —

With her head agin’ the door —

All cut and hacked to pieces

And her life-blood on the floor.

The nurse were a-lyin’ sideways —

Half on, half off, the bed;

They had left her legs and body,

And had took away her head.

And the kid were there, half roasted

In the fireplace at the side;

I’ve ’allus hoped he weren’t put there

Afore his mother died —

It ain’t no use me tryin’

To say how I spent that night;

I were glad when it were over,

And I saw the mornin’ light.

The troopers came that evenin’

And helped me dig the holes;

And their officer read a prayer or two —

As he said was good for souls.

And then I took my rifle

And foller’d ’em straight away —

For the troopers said they knew the camp,

And could reach it afore next day.

At break of day next mornin’

We was there afore the sun —

Planted all around about their camp

So’s we couldn’t lose e’er a one.

There was eight of them native troopers,

And me and their boss made ten;

And the mercy them devils gave to Sal

Were the mercy we showed them.

I have heard a lot of playin’

On piannys and organs too;

But the music of them there rifles

Were the sweetest I ever knew.

It’s all passed now, and over,

And to be resigned I tries;

But my heart’s up there to the nor’ard

Where Sal and her baby lies.

’Tis a plaguey wood this box-wood,

And do make a ’orful smoke;

So ’scuse me, mate, I’ll shift my seat

Or I’m blow’d if I won’t choke.

Frederic Charles Urquhart