Cassowary of New South Wales

 

I were taken out o’ irons on account o’ havin’ been

a successful poacher, I s’pose, although why exactly

Captain Watkin Tench wouldn’t ‘ave a shot himself

I’ll never know – disinclined to tek off his red coat,

I’d be guessin’, an those ostriches made themselves

right scarce at th’ sight o’ that. Surgeon John White,

‘e were there, ‘is hair all sweaty, like baldin’ flax,

ready wit’ ‘is knives fer a quick dissection. But

it’s not the one I shot what I’m tellin’ ‘bout. Listen.

 

Them natives ‘ad ‘im trapped, in a cleft i’th’

stones, an’ came at us wi’ their gesticulations,

shoutin’ “Mah-Ray-Ong, Mah-Ray-Ong” over and

again: a little one. Well, I say little, but ‘e were

big enough ter spill yer guts wi’ one rake o’

them claws. An’ Tench expects me ter wrestle

‘im ter th’ ground, so I grabs ‘is throat wi’ one

‘and, an me other arm is reachin’ out ter

‘ook up ‘is legs, but they’re threshin’ every

which way, an’ the monster sets up a fearful

drummin’, big beak clackin’, an’ I’m scramblin’

ter keep me ‘old. An’ everyone stan’s aroun’

laughin’, except them natives: they’re in

like terriers, whippin’ th’ feet from under ‘im.

 

That’s when John White comes in wi’ ‘is rope

an’ trusses ‘im up proper, an’ I’m wipin’ at me

scratches, swearin’. They takes ‘im back ter

Port Jackson jes’ like that, slung up like a chicken,

an’ sure enough, that’s where they keeps ‘im:

i’th’ ‘en-coop, eatin’ scraps an’ crappin’ turds,

ostrich-sized. By Christ, that’s some good eatin’

goin’ ter waste an’ gettin’ stringy. ‘E’d taste

like young beef, so they say, though I don’t

rightly believe ‘em, an’ I’ll never be findin’ out,

neither. An’ John White an’ Watkin Tench, they

visits ‘im every day, so now ‘e’s growin’ gentle:

them as can’t tame a felon, lavishin’ all that

love on a great ugly bird. An’ ‘ere’s me, William

Connolly, out o’ Bodmin, patched up an’ back in irons.

 

 

Poem by Giles Watson, 2014. Picture: NPM, Volume 2. The Cassowary of New South Wales is now known as the Emu, Dromarius novaehollandiae, but in 1800, “Emu” was a name reserved for the South American Rhea. There was much confusion over the terminology, and the word “ostrich” was also interchangeable for a while. Dissections of the Emu were recorded by Surgeon White in his Journal of the 30th of February 1788, and by Watkin Tench, a Marine who sailed on the Charlotte with the First Fleet, in his Narrative of the Expedition to Botany Bay: “the bird which principally claims attention is, a species of ostrich, approaching nearer to the emu of South America than any other we know of. One of them was shot, at a considerable distance, with a single ball, by a convict employed for that purpose by the Governor; its weight, when complete, was seventy pounds, and its length from the end of the toe to the tip of the beak, seven feet two inches, though there was reason to believe it had not attained its full growth. On dissection many anatomical singularities were observed: the gall-bladder was remarkably large, the liver not bigger than that of a barn-door fowl, and after the strictest search no gizzard could be found; the legs, which were of a vast length, were covered with thick, strong scales, plainly indicating the animal to be formed for living amidst deserts; and the foot differed from an ostrich's by forming a triangle, instead of being cloven.” One bird was indeed captured alive and kept with the Governor’s chickens.

 

Done