The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp

been for a number of years in Australia, and had so many wonderful anecdotes to relate, was a sharp little man, the very image of a Jew in features, but fair, red, always happy and laughing, for a contradiction. He was clean in his habits, extremely generous to the poorer lodgers, and was well liked by all. It is true that many considered him to be a liar; but no man contradicted him, for no man was capable of talking him down. In his early days he had had a phenomenal voice, which he claimed to have lost through auctioneering. As a rower he had defeated all comers on the river Murrumbidgee, and had publicly disgraced the champion of Wagga Wagga at billiards. On seeing a man taking a hair out of his food, Cronje declaimed on the danger of swallowing this, relating how his friend Skinner of Australia⁠—who had taken down all the best fencers of Europe⁠—had swallowed a single hair which, taking root in his stomach, had grown to such a length that it had killed him before an operation could be performed. Again: hearing someone mention the names of two famous singers, one a tenor and the other basso, Cronje, eager to create wonder, said that it was a most remarkable case that the tenor had at first become famous as a basso, and that the basso had at first received recognition as a tenor, and that each man’s voice had changed after he had become famous.

What a strange house was this, so full of quaint characters. Some of these men had been here for fifteen, and twenty years. “Haymaker” George was here, and had been here for some time; for he claimed to have gone haymaking from this very house, when he first came here; going and returning daily without the assistance of trains, busses or cars.

“Salvation” Jimmy was here; who had been so emotional that he had been desired as an acquisition to the Salvation Army, which he had joined, and donned the red jersey. At last the poor fellow had become so very emotional, probably influenced by such stirring music and the ready hallelujah of the members, that really, his frequent laughter, his fervent cries and his down-on-the-knees-and-up-in-a-trice, had provoked so many smiles and sarcastic remarks from his audience, that not only was he not promoted to rank from a private, but was discharged the service altogether. Even to this day, he knew no reason for his dismissal. He was mad enough now, in these later days, laughing, dancing and singing up and down the Farmhouse kitchen, so that I can imagine the effect on his nerves when marching to the sound of loud music, under the spread of a blood red banner. Even now, in these days, he drew everyone’s attention to his eccentric behaviour, so that what must he have been then?

I soon knew them all by name, that is, by their nicknames, by which most of them preferred to be known. It was very interesting to hear, morning after morning, “Fishy Fat” and John⁠—the latter being in the last stages of consumption, and poor fellow peevish withal⁠—sit down to breakfast and to abolish the House of Lords. It was often a surprise to me to see this noble edifice still standing, after hearing it abolished in such fierce language, and in terms of such scathing reproach. Strangely, these men had very little to say during the day; and did one get up earlier than the other in the morning, he would stand silent with his back to the fire, or pace quietly up and down the kitchen waiting the appearance of his friend. When one saw the other preparing breakfast, he would at once follow his example and when everything was ready, both would seat themselves opposite each other at the same table. Up till this time nothing would have been said, until each had tasted and sugared his tea to his own liking. After this being done, one would suddenly ejaculate a sentence of this kind: “Smother them lazy rotters in the h’upper ’ouse, the bleeding liars.” In accordance with that remark, the other would immediately answer⁠—“Perish ’em all.” And then would follow oath after oath of the blackest character, and daring cold-blooded designs that would have gladdened the heart of Guy Fawkes.

Brown was also here, and always in a state of wonder. He had very little faith in print, and every hour things happened which made him⁠—to use his own words⁠—“know not what or what not to believe.” He presumed that the laity was a certain kind of religious sect, but to him they all seemed without difference. The only difference he could see between a vicar and a curate was that one had a larger corporation and a redder nose than the other. Brown, who was a simple, kindhearted fellow, said that we were all born of woman; that we were born and that we must all die; that it was a great pity, and made his heart bleed, to see a man come down in life after he has been high up; and that we had to face a cruel fact⁠—although it was almost beyond belief⁠—that a man’s own relations often caused the man’s downfall which, with his own eyes, he had seen done.

“Gambling” Fred was here, looking over the daily paper with “Red Nosed Scotty.” They are both short sighted, and, unfortunately, have but one pair of spectacles between them, which is now being used by “Scotty.” Suddenly the red nosed man sees the name of a horse. “There you are,” he cries exultingly; “there’s a sure winner.” “Where?” asks his fellow gambler, taking the spectacles and adjusting them on his own nose. “How can I show you now?” asks the red nosed gambler, in a fretful voice, “haven’t you got the specs on?” At last matters are arranged to the satisfaction of both, and Fred approaches his friend “Yanks” for the loan of sixpence, to