This softened the heart and loosed
the tongue of the old swagman. It appeared from his account of
himself that he was not much of a blacksmith. He was ostensibly
going about the colony looking for work, but as long as he could get
food for nothing he did not want any work, and he always avoided a
blacksmith's shop; as soon as he found himself near one he ceased to
be a blacksmith.
When asked about his former life, he said a gentleman had once
advised him to write the particulars of it, and had promised him
half-a-crown if he would do so. He had written some of them, but had
never seen the gentleman again, so he did not get the half-crown; and
now he would take sixpence for the copyright of his work. I gave him
sixpence, and he drew out a manuscript from an inside pocket of his
coat, and handed it to me. It was composed of small sheets of
whitey-brown wrapping paper sewn together. He had ruled lines on it,
and had written his biography with lead pencil. On looking over it I
observed that, although he was deficient in some of the inferior
qualifications of a great historian, such as spelling, grammar, and a
command of words of seven syllables, yet he had the true instincts of
a faithful chronicler. He had carefully recorded the names of all
the eminent bad men he had met, of the constable who had first
arrested him, of the magistrate who had committed him for trial, of
the judge who had sentenced him, of the gaolers and warders who had
kept him in prison, of the captain, doctor, and officers of the ship
which conveyed him to Sydney, of the squatters who had forced him to
work for them, and of the scourgers who had scourged him for not
working enough.
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