The Colonial Mortuary Bard

In Short

This volume gathers three distinct pieces that highlight the author’s keen eye for the eccentricities of colonial life. Through a survey of bizarre mortuary verse, the adventurous exploits of a wily Malayan fisherman named 'Reo, and a nostalgic account of boyhood fishing in Sydney, the work paints a vivid portrait of a bygone era. It remains a notable example of Pacific-area literature, cherished for its dry, observant wit and the authentic, unvarnished voice of a man who spent his life traversing the margins of the British Empire.

The Story

The collection opens with a reflection on the "Colonial Mortuary Bard," a study of the crude, earnest, and often accidental poetry left behind by sailors and pioneers on gravestones and in visitors' books. The author traces these inscriptions from the tomb of Napoleon on St. Helena to the remote islands of the Pacific and the mining camps of Queensland. These verses, ranging from the unintentionally hilarious to the mournfully honest, serve as a bridge to the author’s own observations of human character in the rough-and-tumble outposts of the frontier.

The focus then shifts to 'Reo, a stoic, short-statured Malayan who appears in Samoa with no history and no possessions, save for a talent for deep-sea fishing. 'Reo is a master of survival; he manipulates his environment, his gullible employers, and his wife's predatory relatives with the same cool detachment he uses to pull 20-pound fish from the depths. Whether he is declaring himself a citizen of the United States to secure his property from in-laws, or faking a house fire to escape a village dispute with a bag of gold, 'Reo is a force of nature. He eventually leaves behind a trail of confused consuls and bankrupt enemies, only to reappear in Fiji as a boarding-house keeper, still operating by his own mysterious, self-serving code.

Finally, the narrative turns to a memoir of youth in Mosman’s Bay, Australia, during the 1870s. The author describes the bay before it was marred by suburban development, back when it was a wild, serene sanctuary for a group of brothers and their convict-turned-boatman, Bill Duggan. The central tension involves the quest for the elusive black bream, a fish so intelligent that it refuses a baited hook if it detects even the finest line. Through secret techniques learned from local Aborigines—including the use of buried lines and flowerpot traps—the boys master their craft. The story culminates in a humorous turn of events when their secret source of income, a fence named Duggan, is exposed by a visiting naval officer. The boys are punished by their father for their unsanctioned commerce, but the joy of the catch remains the true focus of their world, leaving the reader with a poignant sense of a vanishing, pristine landscape.

How It Unfolds

The compilation of verses The opening piece catalogues the eccentric epitaphs and visitor logs of international travelers, noting how death brings out the most peculiar expressions of grief and ego. From the petty insults left at Napoleon's tomb to the rough, desperate testaments of miners in Queensland, the author treats these amateur poets with both mockery and a begrudging respect.

The arrival of 'Reo In Samoa, a mysterious fisherman appears, charms the local trader with his silence and skill, and immediately becomes an economic powerhouse through his extraordinary ability to catch fish. He navigates a web of marriage, debt, and familial exploitation, eventually using the threat of American naval intervention to outwit those trying to seize his livelihood.

The transformation of a scoundrel After settling in Tutuila, 'Reo applies his cunning to the copra trade, using a falsified scale to extract profit from the locals. When exposed, he orchestrates a fire and a staged crisis to secure a massive financial settlement from the village before moving on to Fiji, effectively outmaneuvering his peers at every turn.

The pursuit of the black bream The final narrative transports us to a quiet Sydney harbor, where boys spend their days pitting their wits against the cautious, prideful black bream. By using elaborate, buried traps that hide their lines, they turn fishing into a high-stakes tactical game that defies the warnings of their convict mentor.

The encounter with the law When an officer from a visiting naval vessel joins the boys for a day of fishing, he inadvertently reveals their secret business with the local fishmonger. The discovery leads to a harsh paternal rebuke, but the boys ultimately continue their pursuit, valuing the thrill of the hunt over the money itself.

The People

'Reo is the collection's most enduring figure—a man of few words and vast, amoral competence. He moves through the world like a ghost, indifferent to the moral judgments of the traders and consuls who encounter him. He views his wives' relatives as obstacles to be navigated and his employers as tools to be used.

Tom Denison, the supercargo who observes 'Reo, serves as a sympathetic bridge between the reader and the rogue. He is a weary, pragmatic man who finds a strange, grudging respect for 'Reo’s refusal to be bound by the social conventions that govern his own life.

Billy Duggan, the aged, cynical convict, anchors the final story. With twenty-one years of hard labor in his past, he lives on the fringes of the boys' lives, acting as their illicit middleman. He is a "lying old ruffian," as the boys’ father puts it, yet he displays a genuine, if opportunistic, affection for the youths.

The boys themselves are defined by their curiosity and their fierce attachment to the natural world. They are not merely children at play; they are sharp, observant students of their environment, capable of outmaneuvering adults and mastering ancient techniques to secure their sport.

In Its Own Voice

“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 13 hundred barils of sperm oil.”

The author highlights this humble, ungrammatical inscription from a whaling crew member as a stark, honest contrast to the more pretentious verses left at Napoleon’s grave.

“'Reo was a short, squat Malayan, with a face like a skate, barring his eyes, which were long, narrow slits, apparently expressing nothing but supreme indifference to the world in general.”

This physical description establishes the enigmatic nature of the fisherman, who remains a cipher even to those who know him best.

“These blue-nosed devils would break the heart and soul av the best greenheart as was iver grown.”

Duggan uses this colorful warning to describe the immense strength and intelligence of the black bream, emphasizing why they are so difficult to catch.

What It's Really About

At its core, this book explores the tension between civilization and the raw, unscripted reality of the colonial frontier. It asks how individuals—whether they are sailors, rogues, or boys—construct their own systems of meaning and survival in places where formal authority is distant or ineffective. There is a persistent fascination with the "cunning" of the underdog; the author clearly admires those who can outthink, outmaneuver, and out-fish their betters. Underneath the humor and the technical details of fishing lies a deeper, more melancholic meditation on how quickly the natural world is transformed by greed and "shoddy" development, and how the authentic, untamed spirit of the frontier inevitably recedes as the modern world advances.

Why Read It Today

Readers who appreciate a dry, observational style will find much to admire in these pages. The prose is clean and rhythmic, reflecting the author’s background as a seasoned traveler who prefers to report on the world as it is, rather than how it ought to be. You will likely enjoy this if you have an interest in historical travel, the early Pacific, or the simple, timeless pleasure of an account well told.

However, a modern reader must be prepared for the period-specific attitudes embedded in the text. The author’s perspectives on race and class are those of a late-Victorian colonial observer, and the casual, sometimes derogatory, ways in which indigenous and immigrant groups are described are products of that era’s prejudices. There is no attempt to sugarcoat these viewpoints, and while they can be jarring, they provide an unvarnished look at the social hierarchies of the time. If you can read with a critical eye toward the author's cultural biases, you will find a book that feels like a conversation with a man who has seen a great deal of the world and kept his sense of humor about it. What lingers long after reading is the author's genuine, palpable love for the natural world and his ability to see the extraordinary in the seemingly mundane.