A few days after I arrived at Samarai, the Ivanhoe came in from New Britain bound for Cooktown, and Moreton made ready to depart. “Some little time ago,” he told me, “my brother sent me some champagne and some pâté de foie gras, and a cheque which I am going to blow on my leave. I think we will invite Armit and Arbouine to dinner the night before we sail, and polish off the fizz and pâté; but how the devil am I to get the pâté cold? It is in china pots inside a soldered tin.” “Tie it on to the Siai’s anchor and drop it in fifty fathoms,” I suggested; “it is cool enough down there.” The dinner came, the time for the pâté also, and Moreton’s cook proudly produced, and placed in front of him, a steaming, loathly-looking dish of an evil-smelling mess. Moreton prodded at it. “What is this? I sent for the pâté, you scoundrel: what poisonous mess have you got here?” “That’s all right, sir, that’s the pâté; I’ve curried it!” I draw a veil over the language that followed, and also over the fate of that boy.

Earlier in the day a cutter came in, manned by escaped French convicts from New Caledonia; Moreton promptly placed them in gaol, telling me to keep them there until the Chief Judicial Officer came, and I could get his advice as to what was to be done with them. “What sort of warrant am I to hold them on?” I asked; “it is all very fine for you, you are skipping out, but what will happen to me when his Ex. finds out I have half a dozen Frenchmen jugged without a warrant?” “You are a bright R.M.,” said Moreton; “men are not sent to New Caledonia for stealing apples; only the worst of their criminals go there, and I don’t want half a dozen of the worst sort of convicts loose in this division; law or no law, you hang on to them; charge them with having no lawful visible means of support, or with a breach of the quarantine laws, or entering from a foreign port without a ‘Bill of Health,’ or hold them on suspicion of having stolen their cutter; anyhow, 토킹바구인구직 it is better that you should get the sack, than that they should be let loose; Winter will find a way of dealing with them.”

After dinner, on Moreton’s last night, we adjourned to Arbouine’s house, where we remained until about eleven; as we returned home, a wild riot at Billy the Cook’s pub attracted our attention, and running there we found O’Regan the Rager being thrown down the steps. O’Regan was fighting drunk, and making the night hideous with yells and blasphemy. “Go home and to bed, O’Regan,” said Moreton. He would not, and  Moreton76 grabbed him; he promptly hit Moreton in the ribs, and just as promptly I hit O’Regan under the ear and also seized him. “Will you come quietly?” said Moreton; but O’Regan wanted blood and gore, whereupon Moreton blew his whistle and a dozen police, running up, collared him and took him off to gaol, Moreton and I continuing our way home. We had hardly reached the house before a warder rushed up, exclaiming, “That lunatic, the police have run in, is killing the Wee-wees.” I bolted down to the gaol, and found all the cells were full of natives except the one containing the Frenchmen, and accordingly the gaoler had put O’Regan in with them; O’Regan had immediately proceeded to dance with his heavy mining boots over their recumbent forms, and to challenge them to fight.

I had the cell door opened, and told O’Regan that he would be put in irons unless he kept quiet; the Frenchmen all clamoured to be taken away from him. “I’m a plain drunk and disorderly, I am,” said O’Regan, “and I’m not going to be shut up with a —— lot of —— foreign criminals.” “That’s all very fine,” I told him, “but all the other cells are full of natives and you are not going to dance over them; gaoler, bring the irons, and we will make a ‘spread eagle’ of this man on the floor.” Here the Frenchmen chipped in, saying they didn’t want to remain in the cell with him even when ironed, and begged to be put in with the natives, to which I accordingly agreed. O’Regan was left with a bucket of water and a pannikin, and told that if he gave as much as one more howl, he would be ironed to the floor. The following morning, Moreton paid a visit to the gaol to say good-bye to the gaoler and warders, and some estimable native friends of his, whom he had been obliged to gaol for various trifles—such as assault, or burying their deceased relatives in the villages. While he was there O’Regan, who by this time was feeling rather piano, begged his pardon for hitting him in the ribs, and apologized for giving him the trouble of using the police for running him in. “Let him off with ten shillings and costs as a plain drunk, Monckton,” said Moreton; “he seems very contrite, and he’s got a lump as big as a hen’s egg where you hit him.”

The Ivanhoe sailed, and with her, Moreton; my first duty was to hear the cases set down at the Court House, amongst them of course being O’Regan’s drunk. When his case came up, I fined him ten shillings; upon which he gazed at me and remarked, “I’ve seen that blank man up to his backside in mud at the Woodlark, hunting for pennyweights of gold, and now he sits there like a blanky lord and fines me ten bob.” “Yes, O’Regan,” I remarked, “very true; and now that blank man is going to add five pounds to your fine for contempt of court!”