UNKNOWN UNKNOWN

Waikato Times, Volume XXIII, Issue 1944, 20 December 1884, Page 2 (Supplement)

UNKNOWN UNKNOWN

a<3 rough a sample of up at Gubbin'a Creek Mining any pait could show. For prowork, dirt an' rags we should ha' prize at any show. was four on us workin' the same l^laim— me, Tory Bill, Sam Ooley, an' a r darned great African nigger called Juberlo Tohj. To begin with me. I was a English workin 1 man as 'ad come out to the goldfields for to try my luck, and Sam Coley were a mate wot 'ad come out with me. Tory Bill were a rather haristocratic young party as 'ad chummed in with me an' Sam on our way up from Adelaide. He told us he was the eon of a parish beetle wot 'ad got into redooced circumstances through refusing— on religious grounds — a invitation to dine with the Harchbishop o' Canterbury, as 'ad took offence, an' <<poke again 'im to the War Office an' the Prime Minister. Tory Bill were a cud above me an' Sam in the way of usin' uncommon long words an' in 'is manner like ; but he turned out a good 'ard-workin' pardner, an' when we took up our claim all together we got on without usin' our shootm' irons, anythink to speak of, exceptin' wsn wisitin' neighbors, or friends, or eich like. Now about Juberlo Tom. It come about in rather a strange way. Things 'ad been goin' very wrong at our lot. We 'ad bored, an' dug, an' shovelled, standin' sometimes for hours with the water up to our waists, but for all our 'ard labor, an' swearin' an' strainin', we'd got nothink but 'urt backs an' rheumatios. No gold — none of the precious stuff we'd come so far for to get. 11 None of the precious stuff," says Tory Bill one day, " as keeps up bishops an' harohbishops, kings, gaols, queens, an' work'onses, judges an' 'orse races, main sooage an' the 'Ouse of Lords. None of the precious stuff," he 'oilers, gettin' excited, " aa keeps up the Bank of Hingerland an' the solar system, trial by jury an' the Lord Mayor's show, Eoole Britannia an' the monument, oyster stalls an' the rights of women, habeas crokus an' the 'ome for lost dawgs, parish beetles an' the oonstitootion 1" " TuB," said Sam Coley, as were wot Tory Bill called a sigh-nick; " but the question is, wot's to keep ftws up ? The on'y thing up with hus is that we're just about done up, an' chawed up, an' smashed up." " It ain't no manner o' use for to give up," I says. "No, it ain't," says Sam, "not when you ain't got nothink to give up." "We want more tools, an' better tools," eaya Tory Bill. " An' we ain't got no money, an' we ain't got no credit," Sam answers. " We're in a 'ole, that's what we are." Then we all pulls 'ard at our pipes, an' sits looking at each other. All of a sudden we 'eerd somebody comin' along towards our tent, 'ollerin' an' roarin' like a wild bull — " Oh, de ransom will be paid, An' free men de darkies made, In de year ob Juberlo 1 " " It's a nigger," says Tory Bill,lookin'ouL; " we've got too many cussed Diggers prowlin' about thi3 camp. Just 'cave somethink at 'im, Sam." Sam stoops down an' picks up a lump o' ore, an' 'eaves it where the voioe come from. But it didn't fetch our darkey, for he kep' on, 'ollerin' "De year ob Juberlo 1 " Next minute he shoves 'is 'cad in at the tent, smilin' kinder benevolent, showin' all 'is groat, white, gleamin' teeth. 44 Wot the thunder do yer want 'ere ? " says Tory Bill, 'eavin' a mutton bone at the darkey's 'cad ; "go an' 'aye yer Juberlo with some o' yer own cussed black brothers, can't yer, an' don't come intrudin' on white folks." " Yus," says Coley, emptying our last drop o' whisky down f is throe* an' chuckin' the bottle at the smilin' stranger, "don't come disturbin' our dewotions with yer Juberlo." I didn't Fay nothink, but so's not to 'urt the nigger's feehn's by appearin' not to notice 'im, I availed myself of a pause in the conver?ation to shy a camp stool at 'im. The darkey smiled so benevolent I thought 'is face would ha' ci ackcd, an' then he walks straight into the tent — a great, black, woolly'eaded giant of a chap — picks up the stool I'd used for to shy at 'im, an' sot down. "How jou do, gem'men, eh? My name Tom, Jubprlo Tom. You want nuffer partner in di« yer claim, eh ? " says the wisitor, Kmilm' all round like an archangpl. "Dis yer's a good claim, but you kinder don't work it right, want morp tools, new tools." Tory Bill looks at me an' Sam, an' then he prowls-, " Wot the thunder do you know about gold mmm', an' wot tools ha' you got, as we ain't got a'ready ? " Juberlo Tom put 'is 'and in 'is boot an' Jugged up a brown paper parcel. Undoin' the parcel he 'eld out a double-'andful of bright, shinin' yeller boys. tip we all jumps, our eyes shinin' like the gold in the nigger's black 'and. 44 He'll do," shouts Tory Bill ; " never mind 'is black hide. Juberlo Tom's a pardner in this yer lot." 44 Juberlo Tom," says Sam Coley, " if so be as I 'urt either your feelin'a or your 'cad when j I chucked that bottle at yer just now, let bygones be bygones. Jine this yer fam'ly suede, an' we'll all have a Juberlo together."' 44 Juberlo Tom," I says, "wen I went for yer with that stool as you're now sittin' on, my only reason were that yer were standing in yer own light, an' I couldn't see yer properly, an' which I felt so much interested in wot I did see that I wanted yer to got out o' the light, so's I could see yer better." From that night Juberlo Tom was one of us, an' everythink went better at once. I never Fee sich a 'andy feller in my life. That very night he made us all a reg'lar good aupper by stooin' the mutton bone a3 Tory Bill shied at 'im, an' the bottle wot Sam chucked at 'im he took an' brought back ?ull o' whisky, stole from a neighbor. As for work, nothink stopped 'im. We bought jetter tools, an' Juberlo Tom struck out a resh lode. He was workin' away one uornin 1 roarin' out 'is Juberlo 'ymn, when All of a sudden he stops. 41 What's up with Juberlo Tom ? " says Coley. 4> jdc'a gone mad," saya I, for he was jumpin', an' roarin' an' oldin' 'is sides. 44 He's made a find ! " shouts Tory Bill, as we all run up to the nigger. " Gold, by 'caven 1 " True enough, Juberlo Tom 'ad struck a «in, an' by the time we'd worked out that claim, every one of us 'ad made a pile— and a good tall pile, too. Gold worth thousands o' bright, Bhinin', glitterin' yeller boys did we bring out o' that claim as we thought at one time would ha' bin' no good. At last, one night, Tory Bill makes a speech, and he says, " Boys," he says, " guess our time at Gubbin's Creek is about up, an' as for me, I'm goin' to make tracks for the old country. We're a rough lot up 'ere, all on us, an' it's a good job aa us four didn't bring no sorter bloom on us wen we fetched these yer diggin's, 'cos 'twould ha' bin kinder wasted. But away in the old country I'vei got a father — a parish beetle in redooced circumstances, as you may 'aye 'eerd me mention — likewise a old mother, aa always givei me more than my share of the family spankin' wen whippin' was goin 1 round. Boya, I'm goin' home 1 " Then Sam Coley, the sigh-nick, upa an 1 ' epeake. "~ 41 Boys, leastways Tory Bill and Jack, irhen we knowed each other fust we was 'ard up. Whsn Juberlo Tom come along we was done up, chawed up, smashed up. We've 'ad lack, and now we're rich men to the end of our livei. Tory Bill's bin a good pardner to< all on aa. I ain't sot no father, parish beetle or otherwise, an* I ain't got no motherj. spankin' or, otherwise, but there's a little' damation tillage in Essex as I ain't seen for many along day, .with a little churchyard j. wbbre Bdnxeone's slee^pin' as used to love me-. T«ry trw an^ Teryde'triiongtfo^e iy»^ a*

drinkin', Bwearin' digger. An' I'm a-goin' 'ome with Tory Bill. An' wot the blazea am I cryin' about ? " he says, as He drawed 'ia sleeve acroas 'is eyes. I smoked my pipe out, an' then I says, "Boys," I says, "'ear to me a minute. Tory Bill, likewise Sam Coley, likewise Juberlo Tom, I feel as though as we've all bin together in a-gettin' of our dust we shouldn't be parted now we've got our dust. I feel like 'avin' a roarin' old Juberlo together in the old country, an' I'm a-goin' 'ome along of Tory Bill an' Sam Coley. Juberlo Tom, are you goin' to jine the fam'ly sucole ? " Then we all looks at Juberlo Tom for a answer. He were a strange chap, this darkey, an' 'ad never told us anythink about 'isself since we knowed 'im, which were uncommon strange in a nigger. He sot with 'is face buried in 'is 'ands. " Juberlo Tom," says Tory Bill, " are you comin' along o1o 1 yer old pardners ? " Then Juberlo Tom 'as 'is say, still keepin' 'is woolly 'cad buried in 'is 'ard black 'ands. " 'Way down ole Virginny I was a slave. I ran away. But way down ole Virginny is de girl dat I love — a slave. I got money now, plenty money to buy de freedom ob de girl I love, like Sam Coley love de girl dat am Bleepin' in de English churchyard. Juberlo Tom goin' 'way down ole Virginny." We all knowed wot be meant. "Juberlo Tom," said Sam Coley, with clean lines down 'is face where the tears was washin' the dirt away, " Juberlo Tom, shake 'ands — cuss yerl " The next day we made tracks for Adelaide. Wen we got there we found a fast ship ready to sail for London. "Juberlo Tom," says Sam Coley, "ship along of us 'stead o' waitin' for a ship to take you to ole Virginny the straight route. Then I'll leave England with yer for ole Virginny, an' the lives of a 'undred darnation slave-owners shan't stand 'tween you an' the girl." Sam meant it, an' we all four left aboard the "Boomerang," Cap'n Eichard Preece, 'omeward bound. Afore we left, nothink would satisfy Juberlo Tom but changin' all the property he could into bright gold pieces; an' with these sovereigns he filled a large, wide, leather pouch, shaped like a belt, to buckle round the waist, like I've seen a good many diggers use for safety's sake. This belt Tom never took off, but always wore buckled safely round him. Soon as we got fairly off, Juberlo Tom seemed to get mad frisky with joy an' excitement. He used to laugh an' romp an' play like a boy, an' as for 'is Juberlo 'ymn, he become quite a unbearable nuisance. Fust he took to roarin' it on deck, but Cap'n Preeae ordered 'im to 'old 'is row, an' chucked a swab at 'im. Then he got up aloft an' roared "De year ob Juberlo" from the yardarm ; but the sailors trimmin' the sails throwed 'im down. 'Arf-an-hour arterwards we 'eered a awful rumblin' noise down in the 'old, an' it turned out to be Juberlo Tom singin' 'is 'ymn down amongst the ballast — " Oh, de ransom will be paid, An' free men de darkies made, In de year ob Juberlo." But the rummiest thing was the nigger with the cap'n's little daughter. He come up j to us one clay an' says, "you come see de I piccaninny — de cap'n's piccaninny — my little piccaninny." An' he walked tiptoe to whenshe wa3 lyiu', coiled up on a soft seat Juberlo Tom 'ad made for 'er under a awnin'. She wai fast aaleep — a little four-year-old child, with 'er tiny white V,nds 'oldin' a pioter Tom 'ad drawed for 'er ; 'er lips * little open, showin' 'er tiny white teeth, an' with 'er 'air playin' about 'er little 'ead an' sweet, laughin' face in aoft, shiny, sunny curls. I'd often seen Tom's 'and lift a weight none of the others could 'oist, bat 'twas like a woman's 'and, gentle an' tender, as he raised one of little Annie's purls an' kissed it. " Dis my piccaninny," he said, " my little piccaninny." Cap'n Preece come along just then, an' see 'im — an' he never chucked no more swabs at Juberlo Tom arter that. Fust thing in the mornin' she used to call for Juber'o Tom, an' all day long sometimes she'd be with 'im, prattlin' away to 'im, an' elimbin' on his knee ; an' sometimes olimbin' on to 'is mighty broad shoulder for a rids along the deck. We was all four pacin' about together one evening' wen we over'eered the cap'n 'earin* Annie say 'er prayers. "God blesa papa, an' dear mama away home," says the cap'n ; an' little Annie Bays it arter 'im. " God bless papa, an' dear mama away home," an' then she says, " an' please God bless Juberlo Tom." ***** Me an' Tory Bill an' Sam Coley all lives near each other now, an' oftentimes in the evenin' Tory Bill comes round to me an' Sam, an' we all sits smokin' an' talkin about old days, wen we was diggin' for gold together. An' sometimes he brings with 'im a very, very old man, which is 'is father, the pariah beetle, as was once in redooced circumstances. An' wen we all meets like that, an' ha' bin talkin' over the old days, we never gives a name to the last toast we drink, but we always drink it in silence, on'y lookin' at each lother as we clink our glasses, for we all knows the toast is, " Juberlo Tom ; " an' our thoughts go back to our oldjdead pardner, an' the "Boomerang," an' the cap'n's little daughter. An' when he sees us drinkin' that toast, Tory Bill's old, old father takes 'is long clay pipe out of 'is mouth, an' says, very quiet an' soft, "He's gone 'way down ole Virginny." An' wot the old man means wen he says that, an' why it is our eyes is not quite dry, an' cur voices is a bit 'usky when we says " good night " arter that toast, is what I'm goin' for to tell yer. For a time arter leavin' Adelaide, the " Boomerang " 'ad fair winds an' fair weather. Then a change come to foul winds an' foul weather. Afore long we got beaten 'ere an' there at the mercy of the winds an' the seas for weeks, an' 'ad got drove, the cap'n said, a long way out of our course. Wen the weather cleared again we was short of water, an' short of fresh pervisions an' vegetables, an' the poor old " Boomerang " showed signs of bein' damaged. One morning a cry was raised, " Land a-'ead 1 " " Where away ? " roars Cap'n Preece. " Starboard bow, sir," 'oilers the sailor ; An' in a few hours' time we anchored off a beautiful island. I don't know where it was, for the matter o' longitoode an' lattitoode I couldn't never make out ; but I know the whole place seemed to me like wot I guess the Garden of Heden was afore the little misunderstandin' arose with Satan an' a apple. The sea, wot we'd seen so biack an' wild an' cruel, was like a sheet o' painted glass, glowin' an' gleamin' with all manner o' colors. We could see it breakin' in little tiny ripples on the white beach of the island ; an' on the island we could see great green trees wavin' gentle to an' fro, an' bright, gaudy flowers, all bright an' beamin' in the wonderful sunshine. Off to the right, away from our island, as we called it, we made out another island. A boat was lowered— our only sound boat, for the others had got stove in or washed away in the storms— an' sent ashore; an' the men come back with glorious news to the ship — which the cap'n had anchored a long way off the shore, for fear o' rocks or currents or sich like— for they'd found fresh water an' fruit, an' no savages on the island, or wild beasts. So Cap'n Preece decided for to stop where he was for a few days, to lay in watar an' green food, an' repair damages. Now little Annie 'ad bin very ill durin' all the bad weather, an' 'ad fain lying in the csp'n's cabin, with Tom 'angin' around like a great watch-dog. On the second day arter we reaohed the island, Juberlo Tom come on deok with the piccaninny in 'is arms. An' wen she see the smilin' island she clapped 'er little white 'ands for joy, an' begged of the cap'n to let Juberlo Tom take 'er ashore. The nigger looks at Cap'n Preece with wistful,eyes. . , , < " Me take the piccaninny ashore, c»p|n," he . &JO, "nre take de little pico&oinnT,as'hbYe,M»'< hhtf 'e^de tope* ftn'^,|owers A ? » l')^ A# < i

Cap'n Preeoe could never say no to the little 'un ; an' he says, " Yes, Tom, take her whore." So Tom jumps in the boat alongside, an' 'olds out 'is long, black arms for the piccaninny, 'is eyes glistenin' with pleasure. Then the boat rowed away, leavin' only the cap'n an 1 me an' two sailors aboard. We see the boat touch the shore, and see Juberlo Tom jump out with little Annie in 'is arms ; an' we could just see 'er runnin' about amongst the flowers, ketohin' tight 'old of Juberlo Tom's 'and. Then we turned to our work. It all seemed to 'appen in a moment. Some savages from the other island must ha' landed in the night an' hidden, for sudden, without a sound of warnin', a 'orde of them sprung out, shoutin' and yellin'. Our 'andful of men make for the boat, the savages orowdin' on be-'ind them. Tom an' the child are a little way from the rest — the distance to the boat is too far — an' between it an' poor Juberlo Tom an' the sailors some of the blacks are runnin'. They've seen 'im, an' are makin' straight for 'im an' the child, with their spears raised for blood. He gives one wild shout to the others; they see 'im, but can give no 'elp. A moment the darkey stands, an' then, with 'is arms closed tight round little Annie, he runs, with great wide bounds, to the water's edge. Then 'i 3 mighty black arms cleave the surf, an' he strikes out for the distant ship. But from little coves dart out canoes, an' on come savages in pursuit, sendin' a little cloud of spears an' arrows arter poor strugglin' Tom. Thank God for the brave 'cart within Juberlo Tom's black body. We on board 'ear shots from the shore, an' run to the ship's side. We can see a commotion on the beach, an' arter a bit this is the scene between us an' the island. Our fellows 'aye managed to get at their boat, an' are rowin' away with might an' main, leavin' a crowd of natives on the beach. Away to the left is Juberlo Tom swimmin' with the child, an' be-'ind 'im the canoes in chase. The ship's boat is pullin' 'ard across to 'im, but they've got wounded men aboard, an' some of their oars are broken, so they move but slowly, row as they will. Poor Cap'n Preece, with an awful groan, as he see 'is child's danger, was for plungin' into the water, but a better thought struck 'im, an' he ran into the cabin, comin' back with rifles ; an' we all stood on the bulwarks ready to fire over Tom's 'cad into the savages be'ind soon as 'twas safe to do so. Thank God again for the brave 'cart in Juberlo Tom's black body, for he swins on, an' on, an' on. But at last he seems to almost stops. " He's sinking 1 Oh, my God, he's sinking ! " groans Cap'n Preece. But we knowed arterwards wot it was. Some of the arrows 'ad struck 'im. Blood was stainin' the water round 'im; he was getting weak an' faint; the ship seemed so far off, death so very near. The belt round 'is waist with the gold ; the gold to buy the freedom of the girl he loved

'way down ole Virglnny ; the girl he'd waited for, an' worked for so long an' so wearily. But 'is arm is gettin' so weak now, 'is eyes are growin' misty, an' 'is mighty 'cart ia sinkin' at last. Which must be oast away ? The weight 'is left arm supports— the little child whose blue eyes are so full of fear an' despair? — or the weight around 'is waist ? The gold or the child? 'Is right 'and seeks 'is waist. The long sailor's knife he wears is clasped in 'ia fingers. A sharp, strong cut, an' fathoms, deep in the blue water hes all poor Juberlo Tom's bright gold 1 He can swim on now, slowly an' painful, weak an' wounded, an' almost faintin'. But he swims on, an' now crash go our bullets over 'is 'cad into the midst of the canoes. An' at last the ship's Bide is reached. Our eager 'anda pull 'im aboard, an' he puts the ohild in 'er father's arms. He stands tremblin', but upright, says— " Lose de gold, but I save de piccaninny 1" an' falls bleedin' at our feet. ***** Wen night come, we all stood on deck. The loat 'ad got back safe to the ship, an' me tn' my mates was together — together round our dyin' pardner. The spears an' the arrows 'ad done their work, an' he'd asked us to bring 'im on deck to die. We stood olose to 'im, Tory Bill an' me 'oldin' 'is 'ands, an' Sam Goley standin' by with red eyes. A little way off was the oap'n an' the crew. " Bring me de piccaninny." They brought little Annie to 'im, an' he just put 'is great, coarse, rough 'and on 'er little, soft 'cad, oh, so very gentle, an' so very tender, an' so very lovin' 1 Then he laid 'is wounded, acbin' 'cad back again, with 'is eyes shut close, an' arter a bit he says, low, an' soft, an' dreamy—" Boys, I'm g'oin' . . . goin' 'way down ole Virginnyl" Then he opened 'is eyes, an' a strange light seemed to glow on 'is black face. Just afore he died be looked up, like as though he see eomethink we couldn't see ; an' he says — " Da ransom's paid. It's de year ob Juberlo !" — From Chamber Sketches, by Robert Overtoil.