Cooktown blacks, according to George, use a much lighter sporting spear than that in vogue in these parts.  Instead of a slender sapling (preferably of red mangrove), straightened and toughened patiently over the fire, he would provide himself with the scape of a grass tree (XANTHORRHEA ARBOREA), true and straight as a billiard cue, light, and 8 or 10 feet long.  Into a socket in the thicker end he would insert a single 1/4-inch steel point, 18 inches long, or three pieces of No. 8 wire, with the sharpened points slightly spread.

The merit of his weapon was the subject of frequent debate, the Dunk Island natives arguing in favour of a heavier spear, but George showed that his was effective as well as economic.  During a discussion, George told the following story, which, it will be noticed, has in some details, its parallel in a tragic incident in the history of England.  No attempt is made to refine George’s language:—­

“This fella spear kill plenty.  Kangaroo, wallaby, fish—­kill ’em all asame.  He go ri’ through longa kangaroo.  One time me see ’em catch one fella boy.  Brother belonga me—­Billy—­strong fella that.  One time we go after kangaroo.  Billy walk about close up, me sit down alonga rock; me plant me’self.  ’Nother boy close up.  He plant.  We no see that fella.  Bi’mby me see little fella wallaby feed about.  Me bin whistle alonga my brother.  ‘Here wallaby.  Come this way; quiet!’ my brother come up.  ’Tchuk spear, miss wallaby, catch ’em that other fella boy, here.  He bin sing out—­cry like anything.  My brother fright.  That boy sing out—­’Billy, you; what for you spear me.’  Billy run away, that boy sing out—­’Billy.  No, you run away.  Come up; pull out spear, quick fella!’ Billy run away.  Me sit down quiet.  No make noise.  Me hear that fella cry, cry, sing out like anything.  He carn walk about.  Me go quiet along a grass long way.  Come round ’nother side.  That boy no bin see me.  Bi’mby me see gins—­big mob.  Sing out—­’One fella boy bin catch ’em spear.  He very bad.  Close up dead now.’  Billy plant himself long way.  Boys and gins come up, where boy sing out.  ’Carry ’em alonga camp.’  Me go long way, where auntie belonga me sit down.  That spear cartn pull ’em out.  He got hook.  All a time that boy sing out, ‘Pull out spear.’  Bi’mby Billy come back.  He very sorry.  He say—­’Me no wan’ spear you.  Me no look out you.  Me wan’ catch ’em wallaby.’  That boy say, ’All ri, Billy.  You good mate belonga me.’  Three days that spear inside yet.  Me come alonga camp.  That boy look ’em all ri’.  Me say—­’Me very sorry.  Me think you dead now.’  He say—­’Me no dead.  Me feel all ri’.  Me want pull out spear.’  Old men pull out hard.  Carn shift ’em.  Old men say—­’We cut ’em now.’  Get knife, sharpen ’em, cut ’em, cut ’em, cut ’em.  Three strong boys pull ’em spear.  Pull ’em hard altogether.  Pull out plenty beef longa that hook.  That boy no sing out.  My word.  He carn stop.  Two weeks dead.  Gins no bin bury ’em.  What you think?  Cut ’em up beef from bone; put beef in bark, put white paint alonga bark, tie ’em up and hung up ’em a longa dilly-bag.  My word, puff!  Bi’mby you se-mell ’em stink.”