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Source:
from Adelaide Observer SITE SOURCE: SYDNEY FOLKLORE: SECTION 10 - Indigenous A CANNIBAL FEASTThe Spring of eighteen sixty-eightFound Jim and me decided To go up North – Jim was my mate, And always went where I did. So taking leave of all the chums We stowed a final booze in, Of whiskies, beers, and sundry rums, Then started off a-cruisin' We strapped our swags upon our backs – The blankets and such trifles – And for the kangaroos and blacks A brace of trusty rifles. We met with naught to bar our way, But tracked it gaily for'ard, Until we struck the bush one day, Eight hundred miles up nor-ard. Then, on a spot that met our gaze, Not low, nor yet too hilly, We pitched our tent, I lit a blaze – Jim went to fill the billy. I got the tea and tucker out, And rubbed our plate and steel up – But there! You know when camping out How bushmen fix a meal up. Now Jim'd been gone a longish spell, I'd smoked two pipes or more out, And drunk a rum or two as well, So felt a kind of wore out. I sat and thought, “Perhaps some blacks Have roasted Jim down yonder, And chopped his carcass into snacks – Good heavens! I shouldn't wonder.” And as I lay beside the blaze, I thought I saw some figgers, And, looking-up, before my gaze Stood fifty grinning niggers. They shouted, roared, they yelled and danced, They poised their spears and flung 'em; But not a shirt or pair of pants The demons had between 'em. Around a captive close they pressed, Of colour rather creamy; And by the tattoos on his chest I recognised poor Jimmy. My mate was minus all his togs, He hadn't even a mat on; And stood before the blazing logs With nothing but a hat on. They carved up Jim, and served him quick; Some made him into hashes, Some roasted him on bits of sick, Some broiled him on the ashes. They ate him up, midst jests and groans And yellings quite terrific; Their piccaninnies picked his bones In manner scientific. Just then the chief came where I lay And, squatting by me quietly, In manner easy, free, and gay, Addressed me thus politely: “Good evening, sar, how do you do? Your chum ate to perfection; We're thinking now of trying you – I hope you've no objection.” “Get out!” I cried; “don't come so near, you black and ugly nigger; I've got a loaded rifle. Clear! Or else I'll pull the trigger.” And then I jumped upon the ground To 'scape the wicked sinner; But all his pals came flocking round To seize me for their dinner. Then some one shook me rather rough, And said, “Now give it over; You've slept and snored there long enough, You lazy, drunken loafer. “I've shot an old man kangaroo while you sat there a-boozin', and made the tea and damper, too, as you lay fast a-snoozing.” There's niggers north, I have no doubt, Who sometimes chaw up white men; But lots of those we read about Are but the dreams of tight men.
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