The following story is included for its lively language and the picture it portrays of the people of Dunedin over a century ago. The ingrained racism of the time is not shared by yours truly.
LUNATIC AT LARGE.
Reckless Revolver Practice.
Tramcar for a Target,
A Descriptive Dance of Death.
(From "Truth's" Dunedin Rep.)
On Thursday, 9th inst., an unusual sensation was caused in Princes-street, when the barking of several revolver shots echoed loudly along the thoroughfares. Several lamentable little incidents of a ludicrous nature occurred as a consequence, which aggravated tenfold the original cause of all the noise. As the first discharge aroused the pedestrians some remarkable feats of agility were evinced on all sides. A cop at the far corner threw his optic round a telephone-support and evaporated mysteriously in an opposite direction. One dear old lady, heavily overladen with furs, leathers, and a facial drop screen of alarming proportions, lunged into
A PUBLICAN'S GENEROUS BINGEY introducing thereby a scene of extraordinary endearment. The warmth on the lady's part lasted for some minutes as a second discharge, going off from the awful revolver encouraged her to nestle closer, despite the odoriferous expostulations of the prostrate pubbery-man. A lugubrious-looking watery-eyed Salvationist ducked behind a tram-pole, and now and then threw a fearfully woe-begone countenance as the gun-man, perched beside Marlowe's furniture establishment, blazed away at a tram-car bolting up the street. The motorman on this public contraption sat well back and down and with. exceptional length of arm managed to propel his charge at a terrible speed. The occupants of the frantic car — young ladies and old ones — were too busy handing round the latest scandal to notice the uncomfortable position of the distraught motorman. As the car covered the position occupied by the lugubrious Salvationist, the latter bolted, as a sergeant of bobbies afterwards expressed it, like "blue blazes," but despite his superhuman efforts he sliddered on a decomposed apple-skin, and with a resounding unseemly noise
"SANK ON A STANK" stern foremost. "Marvellous escape!" he ejaculated as a grinning dustman raised him off the storm-water convenience. Meantime, young and old were careering over the street, and everyone seemed to be in everyone's way. Even the bally street seemed to be decorated by an extra supply of tram poles and telegraph gear. Collisions were frequent and free, and butchers' meat, fruit, and Easter eggs strewed the ground as if a gay thunderstorm had despoiled Eugene Field's "Amfalula Tree." A dilapidated specimen of the canine fraternity was gruesomely walking off with a week's supply of butchers' beef, when he suddenly contracted his razor-like back, dropped the fleck, and, emitting most diabolical howls, tore like "blue blazes" up the Chinese quarters. Whether or not the gunman's bullet had found his vulnerable part "Truth" can't say, but the canine was evidently affected by the general contagion. To add to the terrible commotion, a budding pressman from one of the day-lies blew too suddenly on the scene, hardly realising the existence of the revolver. He soon, however, got a whiff of the powder, and no Indian athlete or Yankee sprinter over showed a cleaner pair of heels. "Why, they seemed to be playing a tattoo on
HIS SITTING-DOWN ACCOMMODATION!" remarked an expressman. Every journalist is not built to be a war correspondent, and "Truth" must consequently sympathise with the courageous youth. When the noise and havoc had somewhat abated, and as a sergeant of police named Mr. Kidd had the ferocious gunman by the nape of the neck, a somniferous, mouth-agape Chow blandly smiled on the scene. His turn for blinking, however, came rather quickly. A greasy-faced old fish-wife, who happened to be eyeing the arrest right in front of Mr. Chow Wow, collapsed a second time, unfortunately getting the Oriental under, who, through force of circumstances, grabbed the dear old lady as a drowning man grasps a life preserver. The bland oriental found to his cost that he had a real Darby Kelly flattener between him and daylight, for, in his prostrate, super-laden condition, he articulated the most awfully barbarous Chinese idioms, interspersed
WITH CHOICE "CHRISTIAN" OATHS, that would take the rarest beating in a Bowery opium den or a Whitechapel pothouse. Some "Black and White" resurrected the fish dame, and a vigorous pull placed Mr. Chow Wow on his wide-awake trilbies. The latter, thoroughly incensed, leisurely clanked up Walker-street, no doubt to sympathise with the unlucky canine. The hero of all the pother was one Beeby, a furniture-hand employed by Mr. Marlowe, the coming Mayor. Beeby cultivated a particular antipathy towards tram-cars, and informed the arresting boss-cop that the brainless folk utilising them were grinning and insulting him continually. In defence of his self-respect and honor, he opened fire, with what terrible results "Truth" has herewith depicted. Mr. Beeby now reposes at Seacliffe, under the lynx-eyed, infantile paralysis entrepreneur, Truby King. "Truth's" rep. is very happy in being able to chronicle no real casualties from the Campus Martius, beyond, of course, the poor canine's condition. But whether the greedy brute got the bullet fore or aft, or a hob-nail in the gullet, "Truth" is unable to verify. Chief 'Tec. Paddy Herbert and 'Tecs. Hammerley and Hall are on the bloodtrail, and, at the time of writing, were taking Walker-street in a bee-line. -NZ Truth, 18/4/1914.
The Dunedin City Council cemetery records show that a George Beeby, occupation upholsterer, was buried in Waitati Cemetery in 1943, aged 63. His last address is recorded as Seacliff. His grave is unmarked.
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