The Aborigines of Australia

by R.N. Richard Sadleir

I have mentioned that I sometimes, when a boy, accepted the invitations of King Bungaree to go out with him in his boat to “kedge fiss.” His was a very old boat, a “loan” from Governor Macquarie, who cultivated Bungaree’s acquaintance, if not Bungaree himself; and upon all these occasions the queens used to pull the rickety craft, while the king sat in the stern-sheets, and steered. The queens, by turns, not only pulled the oars (only two) of the boat, but when the anchor—a large piece of stone tied to an old rope—was let go, they baited the hooks, threw over the lines, and caught the bream and yellowtails, with which the harbour abounded in those days. Bungaree, meanwhile, sat still, smoked his pipe, and occasionally gave an approving nod or a kind word to the wife who hooked the fish fastest. When out in his boat, during Sir Richard Bourke’s administration, King Bungaree bore a stronger resemblance to Charles the Second than to any other monarch of whom I have read in history. He was cheerful, merry, facetious, gallant (except as to pulling and fishing), and amorous, without anything like coarseness, in his outbreaks of affection. Fish constituted King Bungaree’s coin. The harbour of Port Jackson was his treasure-chest. When a sufficient quantity had been caught to purchase a loaf or two, and enough brown sugar to make a bucketful of “bull,” the anchor was weighed, and the boat rowed to shore. Fresh fish for tea was always marketable, and the queens had never any difficulty in disposing of them at the public or private houses, receiving in return whatever articles they required to supply their own and the king’s immediate wants.

I must here record a little anecdote of King Bungaree. When His Majesty’s ships, the “Warspite,” the “Success,” frigate, and some smaller craft anchored in Sydney, Bungaree went on board all these vessels, to welcome to his dominions the various commanders. The Commodore, Sir James Brisbane, having heard of King Bungaree, and being informed of his approach, gave the order that he should be received with all the honors and formality accorded to persons of royal blood, save the firing a salute and manning the yards. The officers, who entered into the joke, were all assembled on the quarter-deck; the First Lieutenant stood at the gangway, the Commodore, in his full-dress coat and cocked-hat, took his place at the capstan, the boatswain piped the side in the shrillest ear-piercing tones, and the drums and fifes made music to the air of “God save the King!” The moment King Bungaree placed his foot on the “Warspite’s” well-holystoned planks, the Commodore uncovered his venerable head, and placing his cocked-hat beneath his left arm, with admirably acted humility, advanced, and offered King Bungaree his right hand. The king, who was then wearing his coat buttoned up to the neck, à la Sir Ralph Darling, received the homage which was paid him by the Commodore, with just the amount of formal empressement that the Governor himself would have exhibited, under the circumstance of being similarly greeted. Having bowed, rather stiffly, to each of the officers on the quarter-deck, and having cast an approving though cold glance at the guns, the hammock-nettings, and the rigging, King Bungaree condescended to inquire the Commodore’s name. “My name is Brisbane,” said the Commodore, meekly. Bungaree, for at least two minutes, surveyed the Commodore from head to foot, with a contemptuous expression of countenance. He had known one Brisbane (Sir Thomas), who had only lately left the Colony, which he had governed for five years. That there could be two Brisbanes—that the world was big enough to hold two—King Bungaree could not believe. At length His Majesty spoke as follows, “What you mean, sa? You Brisbane, sa? What for you, capping of big ship like this, sa, tell King Bungaree one big lie, sa? I know Brisbane, sa. He great frien’-o’-mine, sa. He len’ me this cock-hat, sa, this coat, sa, this shirt, sa. No, sa; not this shirt, sa. King Bungaree never tell a lie, sa. Capping Crotty, of 3rd Buffs, sa, len’ me this shirt, sa.” Captain Crotty was not a very tall man, and the garment to which Bungaree last alluded scarcely reached the monarch’s knees. “No, sa; you are not Governor Brisbane, sa. I show these gennelmen Governor Brisbane, sa.” Divesting himself, for the nonce, of the airs and manners of Sir Ralph Darling, Bungaree put on those of Sir Thomas Brisbane, walked the deck, spoke to several of the officers, and, taking a telescope from the hand of the signal-midshipman of the day, looked through it into the heavens, and exclaimed, “Ah!” Sir Thomas Brisbane was a great astronomer, and while in New South Wales had been constantly star-gazing. The Commodore was so struck with King Bungaree’s imitation of his own first cousin, that he stood aghast; while the officers, unable any longer to preserve their gravity, indulged in a hearty peal of laughter.

“No, sa,” resumed Bungaree, addressing the Commodore, and acting General Darling, “you not Brisbane. But you very good man, I dessay. Never mind, I forgive you. I now feel very thirsty. Len’ it glass o’ grog.” Several glasses of the ship’s rum, well diluted with water, were “lent” to His Majesty, and several pipes of tobacco. After remaining about an hour on board the “Warspite,” Bungaree was piped over the side, taking with him “loans” to the extent of five old shirts, a handkerchief full of biscuit, and a cold leg of mutton. A marine officer offered to “lend” him an old coat; but, after examining the loan, and discovering that it did not belong to an officer entitled to two epaulettes, Bungaree shook his head, and remarked that it “would not do.” But, going to the gangway, he threw the garment down into his boat, in which his queens were sitting. Onion picked up the old red coat, and, as the day was rather cold, put it on, and wore it in the streets of Sydney habitually.

[The writer having been sent to England to be civilized and educated, proceeds to give a humorous description of his translation from the wilds of Australia to the wonders of the Old Country; and as his expatriation lasted for seven years, to perfect his education at Oxford, or Cambridge, he lost sight of Bungaree for some considerable time.]

However, before the expiration of our sentence of seven years, we all became not only reconciled to Old England, its sports, its institutions, and sensible of its manifold advantages over those of any other portion of the earth; but when we had taken our degrees, and had been (in consideration, seemingly, of abjuring the Pope) invested with black gowns and white horsehair wigs, we left her shores and our friends with something like regret. After a passage of one hundred and nine days, I again placed my foot on the land of my birth. But, oh! what a change was everywhere observable! A change, according to my idea, very much for the worse. The ships in the harbour, instead of numbering only ten or eleven, numbered upwards of forty or fifty. The streets were crowded with emigrants of both sexes, and of the lowest order of the people, who, under the “bounty system,” had been swept out of the streets of London, Dublin, Edinburgh, Glasgow, and minor cities or towns. Old buildings, many of them weather-boarded houses, which had been familiar to my sight from childhood, had been pulled down, and on their sites were erected rows of shops or merchants’ warehouses. So vast had been the tide of emigration to Australia, so busy had been the population during the term of my exile, that I scarcely recognized my native land.

I had not been in Sydney more than three days when, to my great joy, I espied at a distance the cocked-hat and old red coat of poor old King Bungaree. He was coming up George-street. His gait was very shaky, but it was still Bungaree’s gait. When I met him, I took off my hat and saluted him. He peered into my face a few seconds, and then, recollecting me, offered me his hand, shook mine rather coldly, and said rapidly, “Oh! well, what can I do for you? I very busy now; no time to spare; talk to you some other day; yes, yes, good morning.” This change in Bungaree, which I could not at the moment account for, pained me. I thought that, amidst all the changes, observable in every direction, Bungaree at least would have remained himself. However, notwithstanding His Majesty’s remark that he wished to get rid of me, he entered into conversation, and presently, in his old confidential way, said, “Len’ it a sisspence.” I complied, and requesting him to call upon me soon, at my mother’s house, bade him “good-day.” He was then alone. None of his queens were with him. But I had no time to ask him many questions, for I was on my way to Government House, to pay my respects to Sir George Gipps, and deliver a packet which had been entrusted to my care. Whether His Excellency had not looked at my card, or whether he had mistaken me for some one else, I don’t know; but I had scarcely made my bow, when I was greeted with, “Oh! well, what can I do for you? I am very busy just now, have not a single moment to spare; talk to you some other day. Yes, yes, I am now off to the Council. Good morning.”

I had never seen Sir George before, but I instantly recognized my altered King Bungaree. This anecdote, a few weeks afterwards, reached Sir George’s ears through a lady, and he was not a little amused by it.

On the following day, at 10 a.m., His Majesty, King Bungaree, was announced. I received him in the back yard, for my mother would never allow him to come into the house. He was, on this occasion, accompanied by two of his queens, “Broomstick” and “Pincher.” Having “lent” the king and each of the queens a “glass o’ rum,” I proceeded to interrogate him.

“Well, King Bungaree,” I said, “where’s ‘Onion,’ and the other queens, ‘Boatman’ and ‘Ask-about?’” “Onion’s dead,” he replied. “Two emigrant mans get drunk, and kill her with brickbat on top o’ rocks. Boatman’s got leg broke and can’t walk, and Ask-about stop along with her on North Shore, to len’ it bread and drink o’ water.”

“Who lent you that coat?” “One colonel up in Barrack-square.”