Marsupial Bill — James Brunton Stephens

It was the time when geese despond,And turkeys make their wills;The time when Christians, to a man,Forgive each other's bills;It was the time when Christmas gleeThe heart of childhood fills.

Alas! that, when the changing yearBrings round the blessed day,The hearts of little Queensland boysWax keen to hunt and slay, —As if the chime of Christmas timeWere but a call to prey.

Alas! that when our dwellings teemWith comfits and with toys —When bat and ball and wicket callTo yet sublimer joys —Whatever can't be caught and killedIs stale to certain boys.

Strange that, with such instructive thingsFrom which to pick and choose,With moral books and puzzle mapsThat “teach while they amuse,”Some boys can find no pleasure saveIn killing kangaroos.

Where Quart Pot Creek to Severn's streamIts mighty tribute rolls,There stands a town—the happiest town,I think, betwixt the poles;And all around is holy ground;In fact, it's full of holes.

And there, or thereabouts, there dwelt(Still dwells, for aught I know)A little boy, whose moral toneWas lamentably low;A shocking scamp, with just a speckOf good in embryo.

His name was Bill; to wallabiesHe bore an evil will;All things that hop on hinder legsHis function was to kill,And from his show of scalps he wonThe name, Marsupial Bill.

His face and form were pinched and lean,And dim his youthful eye:'Tis well that growing Queensland boysShould know the reason why; —My little lads, 'twas all alongOf smoking on the sly.

Through this was William small and lean,Through this his eye was dim,Nor biceps rose on nerveless arm,Nor calf on nether limb; —Ye growing boys and hobbledehoys,Be warned by me — and him.

His elevated shoulders stoodBut little way apart;His elbow joints — Oh, poor availOf mere descriptive art!I would I had an artist manTo show them William's “carte”!

And should you ask how such a oneA mighty hunter grew,So many flying does outsped,So many boomers slew —Bill owned a canine mate, to whichHis victories were due.

A brute so complex that he set“The fancy” all agog;Of breed that ne'er found name in exhibition catalogue!Oh, would I had an artist manTo show them William's dog!

On Christmas-eve, at set of sun,A hollow tree he sought;A match, a scratch, a puff, and BillWas lost in smoke and thought,And “all his battles o'er again”In fervid fancy fought.

No ha'penny thing, no penny thing,No thing of common claySuch brilliant memories evoked,With hopes as bright as they —It was his father's Sunday pipeThat Bill had stolen away.

For many a time and oft had heAdmired the wondrous bowl,The stem, the mouthpiece, and the toutEnsemble of the whole,Until desire of it had grownA portion of his soul —

Until desire o'ergrew the fearOf kick, or cuff, or stripe.That eve, when Bill stepped forth from homeThe guilty scheme was ripe —His right-hand trouser-leg concealedHis father's Sunday pipe.

And now within a heaven of smokeAgainst the tree he leant,The while the mellow influenceThrough all his vitals went,And for the first time in his lifeHe knew what meerschaum meant.

So subtly stole the influenceHis inmost being through,He did not mark the sudden barkThat signalled kangaroo,Nor noted that his constant mateHad vanished from his view.

His mind and eye were on the pipe,And he had just begunTo count how many scalps would goTo purchase such a one, —When turning round his head, he saw,Against the setting sun,

A Boomer! … and, as when the wavesClose o'er a drowning head,Sudden the whole forgotten pastBefore the soul lies spread,And all the charge-sheet of a lifeIn one brief glance is read —

Ev'n so in instant tumult thronged,About his wildered mind,A thousand shapes of wounded things,Of every size and kind;And some were scalped, and some were maimed,And some were docked behind.

The kangaroo, the wallaroo,The wallaby was there;The 'possum jabbered in its fright,Sore wept the native bear;The stricken paddamelon moanedIts ineffectual prayer;The battered 'guana fixed on himIts dull remonstrant stare;While tail-less lizards swarmed and crawledAbout him everywhere;And limbless frogs denounced him withThe croaking of despair;And tortured bats with ghostly wingsClung to his stiffened hair; —But suddenly the vision passed,And Bill became awareThat he was in the Boomer's arms,And bounding through the air.

Hop, hop, they went o'er broken wilds,Where, stacked in many a mound,The hoards of clay-embedded oreRose grimly all around: —Unheeding miners' rights, they jumpedA claim at every bound.

Then on o'er wastes so very bareThat even “stripping” ceased;And as they neared the hill countrieThe frightful pace increased;Nor granite slope nor timbered ridgeTold on the tireless beast.The sun went down, the full-orbed moonCame swimming up the East,Nor yet the “old man” slackened speed,Nor yet his prey released.

Still on and on, till from a cliffA sentry challenged near, —Though what the challenge or replyNo mortal man may hear;We only know that for a signEach drooped his dexter ear.

Whate'er it meant, the “old man” checkedHis onward course thereat,Dropped Bill, and dragged him by the wristsAcross a wooded flat,To where the KANGAROO-GEMOTIn full assembly sat.

Ringed by the fathers of the tribe,Surrounded yet alone,The Bossaroo superbly posedUpon a granite throne —A very old “old man” who hadFour generations known.

Upon his mournful eye the woesOf all his race were writ;Yet age and sorrow had not dimmedHis majesty a whit; —And, oh, his metatarsal bonesDisplayed the real grit!

Nor unattended sat the sires;Behind them crouched their mates;Nor kangaroos alone composedThe Congress of the States,But all proscribed marsupial breedsHad sent their delegates.

Lo, at a signal from the bossThe serried ring gave way,And through an opening in the throngThe captor dragged his prey,Bowed to the chair, then called to aidA strapping M.L.A.

And thus, betwixt a double guard,The prisoner found his place;And all around were wrathful eyesWithout a gleam of grace; —One wide concatenated scowlWas focussed on his face.

Now hitherto poor Bill had beenAs dumb as dumb could be,But at that pandemoniac scowlHis struggling tongue got free;He lifted up his voice and cried,“Oh, please, it wasn't me!”

A tumult rose; but with a signThe boss the riot checked,Then cleared his throat and bade the guardThe prisoner's clothes inspect: —“Ay, ay, Sir!” came the prompt reply,Or words to that effect.

They spake the language that was heardWhile yet the world was young;And he who knows it knows all speechThat out of it hath sprung: —(With compliments to Dr. Hearn,It was the Aryan tongue).

And should you ask how Bill was upTo every word they said,And how such antiquated loreHad got into his head —'Twas his pre-natal memoryThat served him in such stead.

They searched the prisoner's clothes, and firstThey brought the pipe to view, —For though it is a mysteryTo me as well as you,It is a solemn fact that BillHad stuck to it all through.

Then one by one his poor effectsWere collared by his guards, —Peach-stones, fig-chew, a catapult,A greasy pack of cards,A half-cut cake of cavendish(Prime quality—Gaujard's);

But when from out a leathern sheathA blood-stained knife they drew,All round the court, from hand to hand,They passed it in review:Each sniffed the blade in turn, and eachIn turn said — “Kangaroo.”

And last, a printed documentTheir simple souls perplexed;Each eyed the paper learnedly,And passed it to the next;But not an Aryan of them allCould even guess the text.

At length they summoned to their aidAn old and learned clerk,Who, as tradition told, had beenWith Noah in the ark —Though possibly tradition hereHad overshot the mark.

And while a murmur of applauseThrough all the Congress ran,Bowed with the weight of many yearsHopped forth that gray “old man,”Mounted his ancient spectacles,Sneezed thrice, and thus began: —

“Whereas it is expedient toEncourage the destructionof marsupial animals —(Sensation and a ructionin the court, with groans and criesFrom joey, doe, and buck) —

“Be it enacted therefore byThe Queen's most Excellènt—er—Majesty—er—by and withThe advice and the consentOf Council and Assembly ofQueensland in Parliamènt —

“In the construction of this Act —”But here arose a sortOf interruption from the Right,Betwixt a cough and snort;While from the less fastidious LeftCame cries of “Cut it short!”

Then clause on clause, with careless haste,The learnèd clerk despatched;But when he read, “The scalps whenshownMust have the ears attached,”The whole assembly rushed the guard,And at the prisoner snatched.

But when the reader raised his voice,And thus gave forth the sense,“For kangaroo scalps ninepence each,For wallabies' three pence,”Division rose amongst his foes,And stayed their violence.

For those at ninepence each, elateAt such a mark of fame,Drew back, and left the threepenny mobTo do the deed of shame;But the low-quoted wallabies,Disgusted, dropped the game.

Bill strove to speak; his voice was drownedWith catcall, groan, and hiss,Until the Bossaroo, with slowJudicial emphasis,Said, “Capias-nisi-prius—Boy,What say you to all this?”

Then silence fell upon the peers,And on the threepenny mob,The while this wicked little boySaid, snivelling through a sob,“Oh please, I never done it, sir —No, never; sepmebob!

“I am a gentle orphan boy,Nor never jines no row:My father is a tributer,My mother keeps a cow:We always lives respectable:We tries it, anyhow:The bill as that old bloke has readI never seen till now;And that 'ere blood 's on that 'ere knifeSince father killed the sow.”

Then spake the Boss: — “The qualityOf mercy is not strained;Yet there is still a point or twoWe'd like to have explained,Ere we absolve you from the chargeWhereon you stand arraigned.

“But since the law is merciful,And hastes not to condemn,If witnesses to characterExist, go, fetch us them:The court will sit to-morrow nightAt nine fifteen, p.m.

“And since without your father's pipeYou dare not home return, —(Our ancient brother with the specsHas twigged the whole concern;And, truly, what he doesn't knowAin't worth your while to learn): —

“And further, since the oath of manIs but of scant avail,And few like Regulus returnSpontaneously to jail —(My fit is coming on; I feelThe symptoms in my tail) —We will dispense with oaths, and keepThe meerschaum as your bail.

“To-morrow—(oh my vertebræ!) —To-morrow night at eight,At the Wheal Edith, by the flume,A corp'ral's guard will wait;These shall escort your witnesses,Blindfolded. Don't be late.

“And this remember — (oh my joints!) —Not one of all the raceWhose leaders boss this scalping jobMay stand before my face;The witness of a BritisherWill prejudice your case.

“Now he who brought you will reverseThe process — (oh my toe!) —Your downward path is up above,Your upward down below:Stand not upon the order ofYour going, sir; but go.

“And take this for thy dowry, boy,‘Existence is a sell,’I once was bitten by a dog,Since which I am not well.Methinks my speech already showsSymptoms of doggerel.”

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