Produced by David Widger
_THE COLONIAL MORTUARY BARD_; "'REO," THE FISHERMAN; and THE BLACK BREAM OF AUSTRALIA
By Louis Becke
T. Fisher Unwin, 1901
_THE COLONIAL MORTUARY BARD_
A writer in the _Sydney Evening News_ last year gave that journal someamusing extracts from the visitors' book at Longwood, St. Helena. If theextracts are authentic copies of the original entries, they deserve tobe placed on the same high plane as the following, which appeared in aMelbourne newspaper some years ago:--
"Our Emily was so fair That the angels envied her, And whispered in her ear, 'We will take you away on Tuesday night!'"
I once considered this to be the noblest bit of mortuary verse everwritten; but since reading the article in the Sydney paper I havechanged my opinion, and now think it poor. Bonaparte, however, was agreat subject, and even the most unintelligent mortuary verse-makercould not fail to achieve distinction when the Longwood visitors' bookwas given up unto him. Frenchmen, especially, figure largely. Here, forinstance:--
"Malidiction. O grand homme! O grand Napoleon! Mais la France et toi aont venge-- Hudson Lowe est mort!"
The last line is so truly heroic--French heroic. It instantly recalledto me a tale told by an English journalist who, on a cycling tour inFrance just after the Fashoda crisis, left his "bike" under the careof the proprietor of an hotel in Normandy. In the morning he found thetyres slashed to pieces, and on the saddle a gummed envelope, on whichwas bravely written, "Fashoda." This was unintentional mortuary poetry.The gallant Frenchman who did the daring deed when the owner of the"bike" was asleep did not realise that the word itself was a splendidmortuary epic for French aspirations generally.
Then comes something vigorous from one "Jack Lee-Cork," who writes:--
"The tomb of Napoleon we visit to-day, And trod on the spot where the tyrant lay; That his equal again may never appear, 'Twill be sincerely prayed for many a year."
The masters and officers of some of the whale-ships touching at St.Helena seem to have made pilgrimages to Longwood. Mr. William Miller,master of the barque _Hope_, of New Bedford, writes that he "visited theremains of the greatest warrior of the day, interred for twenty years."Then he breaks out into these noble lines:--
"Here lies the warrior, bravest of the brave, Visited by Miller, God the Queen may save."
As a Britisher I shake your hand, William. When you wrote that, fortyyears ago, American whaling or any other kind of skippers did notparticularly care about our nation; but you, William, were a white man.How easily you might have said something nasty about us and made "brave"rhyme with "grave"! But you were a real poet, and above hurting ourfeelings.
Captain Miller was evidently accompanied by some of his crew, one ofwhom contributes this gem of prose:--
"Louis F. Waldron, on bord the barke hope of nubedford, its boat steer,has this day been to see honey's tomb; we are out 24 munts, with 13hundred barils of sperm oil."
All greasy luck attend you, honest Louis, boatsteerer, in the shadesbeyond. You wielded harpoon and lance better than the pen, and couldn'twrite poetry. Your informing statement about the "ile" at once recalledto memory an inscription upon the wooden head-board of the grave ofanother boat-steerer which in 1873 was to be seen at Ponape, in theCaroline Islands:--
"Sacred to Memory of Jno. Hollis of sagharbour boatsterer of ship Europa of new Bedford who by will of almity god died of four ribs stove in by a off pleasant island north pacific 4.17.69."
Sailors love the full-blooded, exhaustive mortuary poem as well as anyone, and generally like to describe in detail the particular complaintor accident from which a shipmate died. Miners, too, like it. Many yearsago, in a small mining camp on the Kirk River, in North Queensland, Isaw the following inscription painted on the head-board of the grave ofa miner who had fallen down a shaft:--
"Remember, men, when you pass by, What you are now, so once was I. Straight down the Ripper No. 3 shaft I fell; The Lord preserve my soul from hell."
On the Palmer River diggings (also in North Queensland) one WilliamBaker testified to his principles of temperance in the following,written on the back of his "miner's right," which was nailed to a stripof deal from a packing-case:--
"Bill Baker is my name, A man of no faim, But I was I of the First In this great Land of thirst To warn a good mate Of the sad, dreadful fate, That will come to him from drink. --Wm. Baker of S. Shields, England."
But let me give some more quotations from the Longwood visitors' book.Three midshipmen of the _Melville_ irreverent young dogs, write:--
"We three have endeavoured, by sundry potations of Mrs. T------'sbrandy, to arrive at a proper pitch of enthusiasm always felt, orassumed to be, by pilgrims to this tomb. It has, however, been acomplete failure, which I fear our horses will rue when we arrive at theend of our pilgrimage.--Three Mids. of the _Melville_."
That is another gross insult to France--an insult which, fortunately forEngland, has escaped the notice of the French press. And now two moreextracts from the delicious article in the Sydney paper:--
"William Collins, master of the _Hawk_ of Glasgow, from Icaboe, boundto Cork for orders. In hope never to have anything to do with the dungtrade! And God send us all a good passage home to old England. Amen! AtLongwood."
I sympathise with _you_, good William! You describe the guano-carryingindustry by a somewhat rude expression; but as a seafaring man whohas had the misfortune to be engaged in the transportation of thedistressful but highly useful product, I shake your hand even as I shakethe greasy hand of Mr. William Miller, the New Bedford blubber-hunter.My benison on you both.
The last excerpt in the book is--
"One murder makes a villain, millions a hero;"
and underneath a brave Frenchman writes--
"You lie--you God-dam Englishman."