Rough And Ready Justice.
pp. 19-20 · Read in the full issue
That very picturesque but exceedingly unreliable compilation, “White Man, Brown Woman,” published in 1932, con tains the following sketch of the late “Watty” Wilson —referred to as “Tom.”
Tom, New Zealand Government representative on the island of Penrhyn, seated himself in the court-house, wiped his trade spectacles, which he used only on court days, and glowered at the offenders brought before him, “’Go’s first?” be boomed, rattling the judicial bench with a stone. Two natives stepped forward. They were contesting the ownership of a pig.
“ ’Oo gave it yer?” questioned Tom.
The native replied that he got it from his mother. The other said that, as he was the adopted child of the same family, he also had a claim to the pig, and that it should be killed and divided equally.
“Quite right,” murmured Tom, looking judicial and nodding his head to and fro.
“Look ’ere,” he said to the native who was claiming the pig. “D’yer know the white man’s law. Yer don’t? Yer don’t know anything, yer stewpid-looking thing, yer. I’ll tell yer and there’s gonna be no argyfyin’ after it. The white man’s law is fifteen-fifty, an’ h'I’m ’ere to henforce it to the hutmost.” And he glared at the assembly and ham mered on the desk with the stone.
The first native began to argue.
“Look ’ere! You shuttup,” roared Tom.
“Yer fair make me sick. I’m sick o’ the sight o’ yer dirty black mugs, the ’ole lot o’ yer. Now I told yer there’s no argyfyin’ with my judgments, an’ h’l ain’t ’avin’ any argyfyin’. D’yer ’ear? H'I’ve got the power of eternity hup ’ere, an’ wot I says goes. Now
git orf ’ome, all of yer, an’ I’ll take the other cases nex’ week.”
He came out of the corrugated-iron court-house, mopping his brow with a large bandana handkerchief, murmuring something about a lot of blood-stained heathens.
Aboard the ‘‘Tiare Taporo” he related that a sloop from the New Zealand squadron had arrived in Penrhyn lagoon without a pilot, and he had told the commander that he was the only man who could “manure” ships in the lagoon. Tom’s English was mixed, but it was marvellous he spoke it as well as he did. He had been wrecked on the Flying Venus reef when a boy, and had lived on Penrhyn ever since.