# Marsupial Bill

Subtitled: "A Christmas Story"
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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 glee The heart of childhood fills.
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Alas! that, when the changing year Brings round the blessed day, The hearts of little Queensland boys Wax keen to hunt and slay, — As if the chime of Christmas time Were but a call to prey.
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Alas! that when our dwellings teem With comfits and with toys — When bat and ball and wicket call To yet sublimer joys — Whatever can't be caught and killed Is stale to certain boys.
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Strange that, with such instructive things From which to pick and choose, With moral books and puzzle maps That “teach while they amuse,” Some boys can find no pleasure save In killing kangaroos.
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Where Quart Pot Creek to Severn's stream Its 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.
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And there, or thereabouts, there dwelt (Still dwells, for aught I know) A little boy, whose moral tone Was lamentably low; A shocking scamp, with just a speck Of good in embryo.
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His name was Bill; to wallabies He bore an evil will; All things that hop on hinder legs His function was to kill, And from his show of scalps he won The name, Marsupial Bill.
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His face and form were pinched and lean, And dim his youthful eye: 'Tis well that growing Queensland boys Should know the reason why; — My little lads, 'twas all along Of smoking on the sly.
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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.
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His elevated shoulders stood But little way apart; His elbow joints — Oh, poor avail Of mere descriptive art! I would I had an artist man To show them William's “carte”!
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And should you ask how such a one A mighty hunter grew, So many flying does outsped, So many boomers slew — Bill owned a canine mate, to which His victories were due.
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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 man To show them William's dog!
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On Christmas-eve, at set of sun, A hollow tree he sought; A match, a scratch, a puff, and Bill Was lost in smoke and thought, And “all his battles o'er again” In fervid fancy fought.
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No ha'penny thing, no penny thing, No thing of common clay Such brilliant memories evoked, With hopes as bright as they — It was his father's Sunday pipe That Bill had stolen away.
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For many a time and oft had he Admired the wondrous bowl, The stem, the mouthpiece, and the tout Ensemble of the whole, Until desire of it had grown A portion of his soul —
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Until desire o'ergrew the fear Of kick, or cuff, or stripe. That eve, when Bill stepped forth from home The guilty scheme was ripe — His right-hand trouser-leg concealed His father's Sunday pipe.
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And now within a heaven of smoke Against the tree he leant, The while the mellow influence Through all his vitals went, And for the first time in his life He knew what meerschaum meant.
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So subtly stole the influence His inmost being through, He did not mark the sudden bark That signalled kangaroo, Nor noted that his constant mate Had vanished from his view.
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His mind and eye were on the pipe, And he had just begun To count how many scalps would go To purchase such a one, — When turning round his head, he saw, Against the setting sun,
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A Boomer! … and, as when the waves Close o'er a drowning head, Sudden the whole forgotten past Before the soul lies spread, And all the charge-sheet of a life In one brief glance is read —
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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.
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The kangaroo, the wallaroo, The wallaby was there; The 'possum jabbered in its fright, Sore wept the native bear; The stricken paddamelon moaned Its ineffectual prayer; The battered 'guana fixed on him Its dull remonstrant stare; While tail-less lizards swarmed and crawled About him everywhere; And limbless frogs denounced him with The croaking of despair; And tortured bats with ghostly wings Clung to his stiffened hair; — But suddenly the vision passed, And Bill became aware That he was in the Boomer's arms, And bounding through the air.
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Hop, hop, they went o'er broken wilds, Where, stacked in many a mound, The hoards of clay-embedded ore Rose grimly all around: — Unheeding miners' rights, they jumped A claim at every bound.
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Then on o'er wastes so very bare That even “stripping” ceased; And as they neared the hill countrie The frightful pace increased; Nor granite slope nor timbered ridge Told on the tireless beast. The sun went down, the full-orbed moon Came swimming up the East, Nor yet the “old man” slackened speed, Nor yet his prey released.
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Still on and on, till from a cliff A sentry challenged near, — Though what the challenge or reply No mortal man may hear; We only know that for a sign Each drooped his dexter ear.
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Whate'er it meant, the “old man” checked His onward course thereat, Dropped Bill, and dragged him by the wrists Across a wooded flat, To where the KANGAROO-GEMOT In full assembly sat.
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Ringed by the fathers of the tribe, Surrounded yet alone, The Bossaroo superbly posed Upon a granite throne — A very old “old man” who had Four generations known.
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Upon his mournful eye the woes Of all his race were writ; Yet age and sorrow had not dimmed His majesty a whit; — And, oh, his metatarsal bones Displayed the real grit!
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Nor unattended sat the sires; Behind them crouched their mates; Nor kangaroos alone composed The Congress of the States, But all proscribed marsupial breeds Had sent their delegates.
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Lo, at a signal from the boss The serried ring gave way, And through an opening in the throng The captor dragged his prey, Bowed to the chair, then called to aid A strapping M.L.A.
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And thus, betwixt a double guard, The prisoner found his place; And all around were wrathful eyes Without a gleam of grace; — One wide concatenated scowl Was focussed on his face.
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Now hitherto poor Bill had been As dumb as dumb could be, But at that pandemoniac scowl His struggling tongue got free; He lifted up his voice and cried, “Oh, please, it wasn't me!”
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A tumult rose; but with a sign The boss the riot checked, Then cleared his throat and bade the guard The prisoner's clothes inspect: — “Ay, ay, Sir!” came the prompt reply, Or words to that effect.
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They spake the language that was heard While yet the world was young; And he who knows it knows all speech That out of it hath sprung: — (With compliments to Dr. Hearn, It was the Aryan tongue).
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And should you ask how Bill was up To every word they said, And how such antiquated lore Had got into his head — 'Twas his pre-natal memory That served him in such stead.
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They searched the prisoner's clothes, and first They brought the pipe to view, — For though it is a mystery To me as well as you, It is a solemn fact that Bill Had stuck to it all through.
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Then one by one his poor effects Were 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);
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But when from out a leathern sheath A 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 each In turn said — “Kangaroo.”
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And last, a printed document Their simple souls perplexed; Each eyed the paper learnedly, And passed it to the next; But not an Aryan of them all Could even guess the text.
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At length they summoned to their aid An old and learned clerk, Who, as tradition told, had been With Noah in the ark — Though possibly tradition here Had overshot the mark.
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And while a murmur of applause Through all the Congress ran, Bowed with the weight of many years Hopped forth that gray “old man,” Mounted his ancient spectacles, Sneezed thrice, and thus began: —
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“Whereas it is expedient to Encourage the destruction of marsupial animals — (Sensation and a ruction in the court, with groans and cries From joey, doe, and buck) —
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“Be it enacted therefore by The Queen's most Excellènt —er—Majesty—er—by and with The advice and the consent Of Council and Assembly of Queensland in Parliamènt —
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“In the construction of this Act —” But here arose a sort Of interruption from the Right, Betwixt a cough and snort; While from the less fastidious Left Came cries of “Cut it short!”
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Then clause on clause, with careless haste, The learnèd clerk despatched; But when he read, “The scalps whenshown Must have the ears attached,” The whole assembly rushed the guard, And at the prisoner snatched.
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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.
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For those at ninepence each, elate At such a mark of fame, Drew back, and left the threepenny mob To do the deed of shame; But the low-quoted wallabies, Disgusted, dropped the game.
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Bill strove to speak; his voice was drowned With catcall, groan, and hiss, Until the Bossaroo, with slow Judicial emphasis, Said, “Capias-nisi-prius—Boy, What say you to all this?”
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Then silence fell upon the peers, And on the threepenny mob, The while this wicked little boy Said, snivelling through a sob, “Oh please, I never done it, sir — No, never; sepmebob!
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“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 read I never seen till now; And that 'ere blood 's on that 'ere knife Since father killed the sow.”
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Then spake the Boss: — “The quality Of mercy is not strained; Yet there is still a point or two We'd like to have explained, Ere we absolve you from the charge Whereon you stand arraigned.
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“But since the law is merciful, And hastes not to condemn, If witnesses to character Exist, go, fetch us them: The court will sit to-morrow night At nine fifteen, p.m.
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“And since without your father's pipe You dare not home return, — (Our ancient brother with the specs Has twigged the whole concern; And, truly, what he doesn't know Ain't worth your while to learn): —
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“And further, since the oath of man Is but of scant avail, And few like Regulus return Spontaneously to jail — (My fit is coming on; I feel The symptoms in my tail) — We will dispense with oaths, and keep The meerschaum as your bail.
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“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.
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“And this remember — (oh my joints!) — Not one of all the race Whose leaders boss this scalping job May stand before my face; The witness of a Britisher Will prejudice your case.
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“Now he who brought you will reverse The process — (oh my toe!) — Your downward path is up above, Your upward down below: Stand not upon the order of Your going, sir; but go.
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“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 shows Symptoms of doggerel.”
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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