The Book of the Bush by George Dunderdale (always you kirsty moseley TXT) 📖

give his labour for nothing but food and clothing, and was liable to be flogged on any charge of disobedience, insolence, or insubordination which his master might choose to bring against him. Moreover, the black slave might be sold for cash, for five hundred to a thousand dollars, according to the quality of the article and the state of the market, so that it was for the enlightened self-interest of the owner to keep him in saleable condition. But the white slave was unsaleable, and his life of no account. When he died another could be obtained for nothing from the cargo of the next convict ship.

Some masters treated their men well according to their deserts; but with regard to others, the exercise of despotic authority drew forth all the evil passions of their souls, and made them callous to the sufferings of their servants.

The daily fear of the lash produced in the prisoners a peculiar expression of countenance, and a cowed and slinking gait, which I have never seen in any other men, white or black. And that gait and expression, like that of a dog crouching at the heels of a cruel master in fear of the whip, remained still after the prisoners had served the time of their sentences, and had recovered their freedom. They never smiled, and could never regain the feelings and bearing of free men; they appeared to feel on their faces the brand of Cain, by which they were known to all men, and the scars left on their backs by the cruel lash could never be smoothed away. Whenever they met, even on a lonely bush track, a man who, by his appearance might be a magistrate or a Government officer, they raised a hand to the forehead in a humble salute by mere force of habit. There were some, it is true, whose spirits were never completely broken-who fought against fate to the last, and became bushrangers or murderers; but sooner or later they were shot, or they were arrested and hanged. The gallows-tree on the virgin soil of Australia flourished and bore fruit in abundance.

The trial of a convict charged with disobedience or insubordination was of summary jurisdiction. Joe Kermode, a teamster, chanced to be present at one of these trials. It was about ten o'clock in the morning when he saw near a house on the roadside a little knot of men at an open window. He halted his team to see what was the matter, and found that a police magistrate, sitting inside a room, was holding a Court of Petty Sessions at the window. It was an open court, to which the public were admitted according to law; a very open court, the roof of which was blue-the blue sky of a summer's morning. A witness was giving evidence against an assigned servant, charged with some offence against his master. His majesty, the magistrate, yawned-this kind of thing was tiresome. Presently a lady came into the room, walked to the open window, clasped her hands together, and laid them affectionately on the shoulder of the court. After listening for a few moments to the evidence she became impatient, and said, "Oh, William, give him three dozen and come to breakfast." So William gave the man three dozen and went to breakfast-with a good conscience; having performed the ordinary duty of the day extraordinarily well, he was on the high road to perfection.

The sentence of the court was carried out by a scourger, sometimes called flagellator, or flogger. The office of scourger was usually held by a convict; it meant promotion in the Government service, and although there was some danger connected with it, there was always a sufficient number of candidates to fill vacancies. In New South Wales the number of officers in the cat-o'-nine tails department was about thirty. The danger attached to the office consisted in the certainty of the scourger being murdered by the scourgee, if ever the opportunity was given.

Joe Kermode had once been a hutkeeper on a station. The hut was erected about forty yards from the stockyard, to which the sheep were brought every evening, to protect them from attack by dingoes or blackfellows. If the dingoes and blackfellows had been content with one sheep at a time to allay the pangs of hunger, they could not have been blamed very much; but after killing one they went on killing as many more as they could, and thus wasted much mutton to gratify their thirst for blood.

Joe and the shepherd were each provided with a musket and bayonet for self-defence.

The hut was built of slabs, and was divided by a partition into two rooms, and Joe always kept his musket ready loaded, night and day, just inside the doorway of the inner room. Two or three blacks would sometimes call, and ask for flour, sugar, tobacco, or a firestick. If they attempted to come inside the hut, Joe ordered them off, backing at the same time towards the inner door, and he always kept a sharp look-out for any movement they made; for they were very treacherous, and he knew they would take any chance they could get to kill him, for the sake of stealing the flour, sugar, and tobacco. Two of them once came inside the hut and refused to go out, until Joe seized his musket, and tickled them in the rear with his bayonet, under the "move on" clause in the Police Offences Statute.

Early one morning there was a noise as of some disturbance in the stockyard, and Joe, on opening the door of his hut, saw several blacks spearing the sheep. He seized his musket and shouted, warning them to go away. One of them, who was sitting on the top rail with his back towards the hut, seemed to think that he was out of range of the musket, for he made most unseemly gestures, and yelled back at Joe in a defiant and contemptuous manner. Joe's gun was charged with shot, and he fired and hit his mark, for the blackfellow dropped suddenly from the top rail, and ran away, putting his hands behind him, and trying to pick out the pellets.

One day a white stockman came galloping on his horse up to the door of the hut, his face, hands, shirt and trousers being smeared and saturated with blood. Joe took him inside the hut, and found that he had two severe wounds on the left shoulder. After the bleeding had been stanched and the wounds bandaged, the stranger related that as he was riding he met a blackfellow carrying a fire-stick. He thought it was a good opportunity of lighting his pipe, lucifer matches being then unknown in the bush; so he dismounted, took out his knife, and began cutting tobacco. The blackfellow asked for a fig of tobacco, and, after filling his pipe, the stockman gave him the remainder of the fig he had been cutting, and held out his hand for the firestick. The blackfellow seemed disappointed; very likely expecting to receive a whole fig of tobacco-and, instead of handing him the firestick he threw it on the ground. At the first moment the stockman did not suspect any treachery, as he had seen no weapon in possession of the blackfellow. He stooped to pick up the firestick; but just as he was touching it, he saw the black man's feet moving nearer, and becoming suddenly suspicious, he quickly moved his head to one side and stood upright. At the same instant he received a blow from a tomahawk on his left shoulder. This blow, intended for his head, was followed by another, which inflicted a second wound; but the stockman succeeded in grasping the wrist of his enemy. Then began a wrestling match between the two men, the stakes two lives, no umpire, no timekeeper, no backers, and no bets. The only spectator was the horse, whose bridle was hanging on the ground. But he seemed to take no interest in the struggle, and continued nibbling the grass until it was over.

The black man, who had now dropped his rug, was as agile and nimble as a beast of prey, and exerted all his skill and strength to free his hand. But the white man felt that to loose his hold would be to lose his life, and he held on to his grip of the blackfellow's wrist with desperate resolution. The tomahawk fell to the ground, but just then neither of the men could spare a hand to pick it up. At length, by superior strength, the stockman brought his enemy to the ground. He then grasped the thick, matted hair with one hand, and thus holding the black's head close to the ground, he reached with the other hand for the tomahawk, and with one fierce blow buried the blade in the savage's brain. Even then he did not feel quite sure of his safety. He had an idea that it was very difficult to kill blackfellows outright, that theywere like American 'possums, and were apt to come to life again after they had been killed, and ought to be dead. So to finish his work well, he hacked at the neck with the tomahawk until he had severed the head completely from the body; then taking the head by the hair, he threw it as far as he could to the other side of the track. By this time he began to feel faint from loss of blood, so he mounted his horse and galloped to Joe Kermode's hut.

When Joe had performed his duties of a good Samaritan to the stranger he mounted his horse, and rode to the field of battle. He found the headless body of the black man, the head at the other side of the track, the tomahawk, the piece of tobacco, the rug, and the firestick. Joe and the shepherd buried the body; the white man survived.


THE GOVERNMENT STROKE.

"The Government Stroke" is a term often used in the colonies, and indicates a lazy and inefficient manner of performing any kind of labour. It originated with the convicts. When a man is forced to work through fear of the lash, and receives no wages, it is quite natural and reasonable that he should exert himself as little as possible. If you were to reason with him, and urge him to work harder at, for instance, breaking road metal, in order that the public might have good roads to travel on, and show him what a great satisfaction it should be to know that his labours would confer a lasting benefit on his fellow creatures; that, though it might appear a little hard on him individually, he should raise his thoughts to a higher level, and labour for the good of humanity in general, he would very likely say, "Do you take me for a fool?" But if you gave him three dozen lashes for his laziness he will see, or at least feel, that your argument has some force in it. As a matter of fact men work for some present or future benefit for themselves. The saint who sells all he has to give to the poor, does so with the hope of obtaining a reward exceedingly great in the life to come. And even if there were no life to come, his present life is happier far than that of the man who grabs at all the wealth he can get