A boy's voyage round the world
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Title: A boy's voyage round the world
Author: Samuel Smiles
Editor: Samuel Smiles
Release date: January 17, 2008 [eBook #24345]
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/24345
Credits: Produced by Thierry Alberto, Diane Monico, and The Online
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A BOY'S VOYAGE ROUND THE WORLD ***
Produced by Thierry Alberto, Diane Monico, and The Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
A BOY'S VOYAGE
ROUND THE WORLD
EDITED
BY SAMUEL SMILES, LL.D.
AUTHOR OF 'SELF-HELP,' ETC.
LONDON
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET
1905
[Illustration: OUTWARD BOUND. _See_ p. 27.]
PREFACE.
I have had pleasure in editing this little book, not only because it
is the work of my youngest son, but also because it contains the
results of a good deal of experience of life under novel aspects, as
seen by young, fresh, and observant eyes.
How the book came to be written is as follows: The boy, whose two
years' narrative forms the subject of these pages, was at the age of
sixteen seized with inflammation of the lungs, from which he was
recovering so slowly and unsatisfactorily, that I was advised by
London physicians to take him from the business he was then learning
in Yorkshire, and send him on a long sea voyage. Australia was
recommended, because of the considerable time occupied in making the
voyage by sailing ship, and also because of the comparatively genial
and uniform temperature while at sea.
He was accordingly sent out to Melbourne by one of Money Wigram's
ships in the winter of 1868-9, with directions either to return by the
same ship or, if the opportunity presented itself, to remain for a
time in the colony. It will be found, from his own narrative that,
having obtained some suitable employment, he decided to adopt the
latter course; and for a period of about eighteen months he resided at
Majorca, an up-country township situated in the gold-mining district
of Victoria.
When his health had become re-established, he was directed to return
home, about the beginning of the present year; and he resolved to make
the return voyage by the Pacific route, _via_ Honolulu and San
Francisco, and to proceed from thence by railway across the Rocky
Mountains to New York.
While at sea, the boy kept a full log, intended for the perusal of his
relatives at home; and while on land, he corresponded with them
regularly and fully, never missing a mail. He had not the remotest
idea that anything which he saw and described during his absence would
ever appear in a book. But since his return, it has occurred to the
Editor of these pages that the information they contain will probably
be found interesting to a wider circle of readers than that to which
the letters were originally addressed; and in that belief, the
substance of them is here reproduced, the Editor's work having
consisted mainly in arranging the materials, leaving the writer to
tell his own story as much as possible in his own way, and in his own
words.
S. S.
_London, November_, 1871.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER I.
DOWN CHANNEL. 1
AT GRAVESEND--TAKING IN STORES--FIRST NIGHT ON BOARD--"THE
ANCHOR'S UP"--OFF BRIGHTON--CHANGE OF WIND--GALE
IN THE CHANNEL--THE ABANDONED SHIP--THE EDDYSTONE--PLYMOUTH
HARBOUR--DEPARTURE FROM ENGLAND
CHAPTER II.
FLYING SOUTH. 10
FELLOW-PASSENGERS--LIFE ON BOARD SHIP--PROGRESS OF THE
SHIP--HER HANDLING--A FINE RUN DOWN TO THE LINE--SHIP'S
AMUSEMENTS--CLIMBING THE MIZEN--THE CAPE DE VERD
ISLANDS--SAN ANTONIO
CHAPTER III.
WITHIN THE TROPICS. 22
INCREASE OF TEMPERATURE--FLYING FISH--THE MORNING BATH
ON BOARD--PAYING "FOOTINGS"--THE MAJOR'S WONDERFUL
STORIES--ST. PATRICK'S DAY--GRAMPUSES--A SHIP IN
SIGHT--THE 'LORD RAGLAN'--RAIN-FALL IN THE TROPICS--TROPICAL
SUNSETS--THE YANKEE WHALER
CHAPTER IV.
THE 'BLUE JACKET.' 32
APRIL FOOLS' DAY--A SHIP IN SIGHT--THE 'PYRMONT'--THE
RESCUED 'BLUE JACKET' PASSENGERS--STORY OF THE BURNT
SHIP--SUFFERING OF THE LADY PASSENGERS IN AN OPEN
BOAT--THEIR RESCUE--DISTRESSING SCENE ON BOARD THE 'PYRMONT'
CHAPTER V.
IN THE SOUTH ATLANTIC. 41
PREPARING FOR ROUGH WEATHER--THE 'GEORGE THOMPSON' CLIPPER--A
RACE AT SEA--SCENE FROM 'PICKWICK' ACTED--FISHING FOR
ALBATROSS--DISSECTION AND DIVISION OF THE BIRD--WHALES--STRONG
GALE--SMASH IN THE CABIN--SHIPPING A GREEN SEA--THE SEA BIRDS
IN OUR WAKE--THE CROZET ISLANDS
CHAPTER VI.
NEARING AUSTRALIA--THE LANDING. 54
ACTING ON BOARD--THE CYCLONE--CLEANING THE SHIP FOR
PORT--CONTRARY WINDS--AUSTRALIA IN SIGHT--CAPE OTWAY--PORT
PHILLIP HEADS--PILOT TAKEN ON BOARD--INSIDE THE
HEADS--WILLIAMSTOWN--SANDRIDGE--THE LANDING
CHAPTER VII.
MELBOURNE. 60
FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF MELBOURNE--SURVEY OF THE CITY--THE
STREETS--COLLINS STREET--THE TRAFFIC--NEWNESS AND YOUNGNESS
OF MELBOURNE--ABSENCE OF BEGGARS--MELBOURNE AN ENGLISH
CITY--THE CHINESE QUARTER--THE PUBLIC LIBRARY--PENTRIDGE
PRISON--THE YARRA RIVER--ST. KILDA--SOCIAL EXPERIENCES IN
MELBOURNE--A MARRIAGE BALL--MELBOURNE LADIES--VISIT TO A
SERIOUS FAMILY
CHAPTER VIII.
UP COUNTRY. 76
OBTAIN A SITUATION IN AN UP-COUNTRY BANK--JOURNEY BY
RAIL--CASTLEMAINE--FURTHER JOURNEY BY COACH--MARYBOROUGH--FIRST
SIGHT OF THE BUSH--THE BUSH TRACKS--EVENING PROSPECT OVER THE
COUNTRY--ARRIVAL AT MY DESTINATION
CHAPTER IX.
MAJORCA. 85
MAJORCA FOUNDED IN A RUSH--DESCRIPTION OF A RUSH--DIGGERS
CAMPING OUT--GOLD-MINING AT MAJORCA--MAJORCA HIGH
STREET--THE PEOPLE--THE INNS--THE CHURCHES--THE BANK--THE
CHINAMEN--AUSTRALIA THE PARADISE OF WORKING MEN--"SHOUTING"
FOR DRINKS--ABSENCE OF BEGGARS--NO COPPERS UP COUNTRY
CHAPTER X.
MY NEIGHBOURHOOD AND NEIGHBOURS. 96
"DINING OUT"--DIGGERS' SUNDAY DINNER--THE OLD WORKINGS--THE
CHINAMEN'S GARDENS--CHINAMEN'S DWELLINGS--THE CEMETERY--THE
HIGH PLAINS--THE BUSH--A RIDE THROUGH THE BUSH--THE SAVOYARD
WOODCUTTER--VISIT TO A SQUATTER
CHAPTER XI.
AUSTRALIAN WINTER--THE FLOODS. 107
THE VICTORIAN CLIMATE--THE BUSH IN WINTER--THE EUCALYPTUS
OR AUSTRALIAN GUM-TREE--BALL AT CLUNES--FIRE IN THE MAIN
STREET--THE BUGGY SAVED--DOWN-POUR OF RAIN--GOING HOME BY
WATER--THE FLOODS OUT--CLUNES SUBMERGED--CALAMITY AT
BALLARAT--DAMAGE DONE BY THE FLOOD--THE CHINAMEN'S GARDENS
WASHED AWAY
CHAPTER XII.
SPRING, SUMMER, AND HARVEST. 116
SPRING VEGETATION--THE BUSH IN SPRING--GARDEN FLOWERS--AN
EVENING WALK--AUSTRALIAN MOONLIGHT--THE HOT NORTH WIND--THE
PLAGUE OF FLIES--BUSH FIRES--SUMMER AT CHRISTMAS--AUSTRALIAN
FRUITS--ASCENT OF MOUNT GREENOCK--AUSTRALIAN WINE--HARVEST--A
SQUATTER'S FARM--HARVEST HOME CELEBRATION--AURORA
AUSTRALIS--AUTUMN RAINS
CHAPTER XIII.
BUSH ANIMALS--BIRDS--SNAKES. 131
THE 'POSSUM--A NIGHT'S SPORT IN THE BUSH--MUSQUITOES--WATTLE
BIRDS--THE PIPING-CROW--"MINERS"--PAROQUET-HUNTING--THE
SOUTHERN CROSS--SNAKES--MARSUPIAL ANIMALS
CHAPTER XIV.
GOLD-BUYING AND GOLD-MINING. 140
HOW THE GOLD IS FOUND--GOLD-WASHING--QUARTZ-CRUSHING--BUYING
GOLD FROM CHINAMEN--ALLUVIAL COMPANIES--BROKEN-DOWN
MEN--UPS AND DOWNS IN GOLD-MINING--VISIT TO A GOLD
MINE--GOLD-SEEKING--DIGGERS' TALES OF LUCKY FINDS
CHAPTER XV.
ROUGH LIFE AT THE DIGGINGS--"STOP THIEF!" 153
GOLD-RUSHING--DIGGERS' CAMP AT HAVELOCK--MURDER OF
LOPEZ--PURSUIT AND CAPTURE OF THE MURDERER--THE THIEVES
HUNTED FROM THE CAMP--DEATH OF THE MURDERER--THE
POLICE--ATTEMPTED ROBBERY OF THE COLLINGWOOD BANK--ANOTHER
SUPPOSED ROBBERY--"STOP THIEF!"--SMART USE OF THE TELEGRAPH
CHAPTER XVI.
PLACES ABOUT. 163
VISIT TO BALLARAT--THE JOURNEY BY COACH--BALLARAT
FOUNDED ON GOLD--DESCRIPTION OF THE TOWN--BALLARAT
"CORNER"--THE SPECULATIVE COBBLER--FIRE BRIGADES--RETURN
JOURNEY--CRAB-HOLES--THE TALBOT BALL--THE TALBOT
FETE--THE AVOCA RACES--SUNRISE IN THE BUSH
CHAPTER XVII.
CONCLUSION OF MAJORCAN LIFE. 179
VICTORIAN LIFE ENGLISH--ARRIVAL OF THE HOME MAIL--NEWS OF
THE FRANCO-GERMAN WAR--THE GERMAN SETTLERS IN MAJORCA--THE
SINGLE FRENCHMAN--MAJORCAN PUBLIC TEAS--THE CHURCH--THE
RANTERS--THE TEETOTALLERS--THE COMMON SCHOOL--THE ROMAN
CATHOLICS--COMMON SCHOOL FETE AND ENTERTAINMENT--THE
MECHANICS' INSTITUTE--FUNERAL OF THE TOWN CLERK--DEPARTURE
FROM MAJORCA--THE COLONY OF VICTORIA
CHAPTER XVIII.
ROUND TO SYDNEY. 190
LAST CHRISTMAS IN AUSTRALIA--START BY STEAMER FOR SYDNEY--THE
'GREAT BRITAIN'--CHEAP TRIPS TO QUEENSCLIFFE--ROUGH
WEATHER AT SEA--MR. AND MRS. C. MATHEWS--BOTANY BAY--OUTER
SOUTH HEAD--PORT JACKSON--SYDNEY COVE--DESCRIPTION OF
SYDNEY--GOVERNMENT HOUSE AND DOMAIN--GREAT FUTURE EMPIRE OF
THE SOUTH
CHAPTER XIX.
TO AUCKLAND, IN NEW ZEALAND. 202
LEAVING SYDNEY--ANCHOR WITHIN THE HEADS--TAKE IN MAILS
AND PASSENGERS FROM THE 'CITY OF ADELAIDE'--OUT TO SEA
AGAIN--SIGHT NEW ZEALAND--ENTRANCE TO AUCKLAND HARBOUR--THE
'GALATEA'--DESCRIPTION OF AUCKLAND--FOUNDING OF
AUCKLAND DUE TO A JOB--MAORI MEN AND WOMEN--DRIVE TO
ONEHUNGA--SPLENDID VIEW--AUCKLAND GALA--NEW ZEALAND
DELAYS--LEAVE FOR HONOLULU
CHAPTER XX.
UP THE PACIFIC. 212
DEPARTURE FOR HONOLULU--MONOTONY OF A VOYAGE BY
STEAM--DESAGREMENS--THE "GENTLEMEN" PASSENGERS--THE ONE
SECOND CLASS "LADY"--THE RATS ON BOARD--THE SMELLS--FLYING
FISH--CROSS THE LINE--TREATMENT OF NEWSPAPERS ON
BOARD--HAWAII IN SIGHT--ARRIVAL AT HONOLULU
CHAPTER XXI.
HONOLULU AND THE ISLAND OF OAHU. 220
THE HARBOUR OF HONOLULU--IMPORTANCE OF ITS SITUATION--THE
CITY--CHURCHES AND THEATRES--THE POST OFFICE--THE
SUBURBS--THE KING'S PALACE--THE NUUANU VALLEY--POI--PEOPLE
COMING DOWN THE VALLEY--THE PALI--PROSPECT FROM THE
CLIFFS--THE NATIVES (KANAKAS)--DIVERS--THE WOMEN--DRINK
PROHIBITION--THE CHINESE--THEATRICALS--MUSQUITOES
CHAPTER XXII.
HONOLULU TO SAN FRANCISCO. 237
DEPARTURE FROM HONOLULU--WRECK OF THE 'SAGINAW'--THE 'MOSES
TAYLOR'--THE ACCOMMODATION--THE COMPANY ON BOARD--BEHAVIOUR
OF THE SHIP--DEATH OF A PASSENGER--FEELINGS ON LANDING IN A
NEW PLACE--APPROACH THE GOLDEN GATE--CLOSE OF THE PACIFIC
LOG--FIRST SIGHT OF AMERICA
CHAPTER XXIII.
SAN FRANCISCO TO SACRAMENTO. 244
LANDING AT SAN FRANCISCO--THE GOLDEN CITY--THE STREETS--THE
BUSINESS QUARTER--THE CHINESE QUARTER--THE TOUTERS--LEAVE
SAN FRANCISCO--THE FERRY-BOAT TO OAKLAND--THE BAY OF SAN
FRANCISCO--LANDING ON THE EASTERN SHORE--AMERICAN RAILWAY
CARRIAGES--THE PULLMAN'S CARS--SLEEPING BERTHS--UNSAVOURY
CHINAMEN--THE COUNTRY--CITY OF SACRAMENTO
CHAPTER XXIV.
ACROSS THE SIERRA NEVADA. 255
RAPID ASCENT--THE TRESTLE-BRIDGES--MOUNTAIN
PROSPECTS--"PLACERS"--SUNSET--CAPE HORN--ALTA--THE SIERRAS
BY NIGHT--CONTRAST OF TEMPERATURES--THE SNOW-SHEDS--THE
SUMMIT--RENO--BREAKFAST AT HUMBOLDT--THE SAGE-BRUSH--BATTLE
MOUNT--SHOSHONIE INDIANS--TEN MILE CANYON--ELKO STATION--GREAT
AMERICAN DESERT--ARRIVAL AT OGDEN
CHAPTER XXV.
ACROSS THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS. 265
START BY TRAIN FOR OMAHA--MY FELLOW-PASSENGERS--PASSAGE
THROUGH THE DEVIL'S GATE--WEBER CANYON--FANTASTIC
ROCKS--"THOUSAND MILE TREE"--ECHO CANYON--MORE
TRESTLE-BRIDGES--SUNSET AMIDST THE BLUFFS--A WINTRY NIGHT
BY RAIL--SNOW-FENCES AND SNOW-SHEDS--LARAMIE CITY--RED
BUTTES--THE SUMMIT AT SHERMAN--CHEYENNE CITY--THE WESTERN
PRAIRIE IN WINTER--PRAIRIE DOG CITY--THE VALLEY OF THE
PLATTE--GRAND ISLAND--CROSS THE NORTH FORK OF THE
PLATTE--ARRIVAL IN OMAHA
CHAPTER XXVI.
OMAHA TO CHICAGO. 275
OMAHA TERMINUS--CROSS THE MISSOURI--COUNCIL BLUFFS--THE
FOREST--CROSS THE MISSISSIPPI--THE CULTIVATED PRAIRIE--THE
FARMSTEADS AND VILLAGES--APPROACH TO CHICAGO--THE
CITY OF CHICAGO--ENTERPRISE OF ITS MEN--THE WATER TUNNELS
UNDER LAKE MICHIGAN--TUNNELS UNDER THE RIVER CHICAGO--UNION
OF LAKE MICHIGAN WITH THE MISSISSIPPI--DESCRIPTION OF THE
STREETS AND BUILDINGS OF CHICAGO--PIGS AND CORN--THE
AVENUE--SLEIGHING--THEATRES AND CHURCHES
CHAPTER XXVII.
CHICAGO TO NEW YORK. 287
LEAVE CHICAGO--THE ICE HARVEST--MICHIGAN CITY--THE
FOREST--A RAILWAY SMASHED--KALAMAZOO--DETROIT--CROSSING
INTO CANADA--AMERICAN MANNERS--ROEBLING'S SUSPENSION
BRIDGE--NIAGARA FALLS IN WINTER--GOAT ISLAND--THE
AMERICAN FALL--THE GREAT HORSE-SHOE FALL--THE RAPIDS
FROM THE LOVERS' SEAT--AMERICAN COUSINS--ROCHESTER--NEW
YORK--A CATASTROPHE--RETURN HOME
INDEX 301
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
The 'Yorkshire,' Outward Bound _Frontispiece_
Map of the Ship's Course, Plymouth to Melbourne _Page_ 50-51
View of Melbourne, Victoria 60
Map of the Gold-Mining District, Victoria 78
View of Sydney, Port Jackson 190
View of Auckland, New Zealand 202
Map of the Ship's Course up the Pacific 213
Maps of Auckland, and Sydney, Port Jackson 213
View of Honolulu, Sandwich Islands 220
Map of Oahu, Sandwich Islands 222
Maps of Atlantic and Pacific Railways 248-249; 276-277
View of Niagara Falls--American side 287
ROUND THE WORLD.
CHAPTER I.
DOWN CHANNEL.
AT GRAVESEND--TAKING IN STORES--FIRST NIGHT ON BOARD--"THE ANCHOR'S
UP"--OFF BRIGHTON--CHANGE OF WIND--GALE IN THE CHANNEL--THE ABANDONED
SHIP--THE EDDYSTONE--PLYMOUTH HARBOUR--DEPARTURE FROM ENGLAND.
_20th February: At Gravesend._--My last farewells are over, my last
adieus are waved to friends on shore, and I am alone on board the ship
'Yorkshire,' bound for Melbourne. Everything is in confusion on board.
The decks are littered with stores, vegetables, hen-coops, sheep-pens,
and coils of rope. There is quite a little crowd of sailors round the
capstan in front of the cabin door. Two officers, with lists before
them, are calling over the names of men engaged to make up our
complement of hands, and appointing them to their different watches.
Though the ship is advertised to sail this evening, the stores are by
no means complete. The steward is getting in lots of cases; and what a
quantity of pickles! Hens are coming up to fill the hen-coops. More
sheep are being brought; there are many on board already; and here
comes our milk-cow over the ship's side, gently hoisted up by a rope.
The animal seems amazed; but she is in skilful hands. "Let go!" calls
out the boatswain, as the cow swings in mid-air; away rattles the
chain round the wheel of the donkey-engine, and the break is put on
just in time to land Molly gently on the deck. In a minute she is snug
in her stall "for'ard," just by the cook's galley.
Passengers are coming on board. Here is one mounting the ship's side,
who has had a wet passage from the shore. A seaman lends him a hand,
and he reaches the sloppy, slippery deck with difficulty.
It is a dismal day. The sleet and rain come driving down. Everything
is raw and cold; everybody wet or damp. The passengers in wet
mackintoshes, and the seamen in wet tarpaulins; Gravesend, with its
dirty side to the river, and its dreary mud-bank exposed to sight; the
alternate drizzle and down-pour; the muddle and confusion of the
deck;--all this presented anything but an agreeable picture to look
at. So I speedily leave the deck, in order to make a better
acquaintance with what is to be my home for the next three months.
First, there is the saloon--long and narrow--surrounded by the cabins.
It is our dining-room, drawing-room, and parlour, all in one. A long
table occupies the centre, fitted all round with fixed seats and
reversible backs. At one end of the table is the captain's chair, over
which hangs a clock and a barometer. Near the after end of the saloon
is the mizen-mast, which passes through into the hole below, and rests
on the keelson.
The cabins, which surround the saloon, are separated from it by open
woodwork, for purposes of ventilation. The entrances to them from the
saloon are by sliding doors. They are separated from each other by
folding-doors, kept bolted on either side when one cabin only is
occupied; but these can be opened when the neighbours on both sides
are agreeable.
My own little cabin is by no means dreary or uninviting. A window,
with six small panes, lets in light and air; and outside is a strong
board, or "dead-light," for use in rough weather, to protect the
glass. My bunk, next to the saloon, is covered with a clean white
counterpane. A little wash-stand occupies the corner; a shelf of
favourite books is over my bed-head; and a swing-lamp by its side.
Then there is my little mirror, my swing-tray for bottles, and a
series of little bags suspended from nails, containing all sorts of
odds and ends. In short, my little chamber, so fitted up, looks quite
cheerful and even jolly.
It grows dusk, and there is still the same bustle and turmoil on deck.
All are busy; everybody is in a hurry. At about nine the noise seems
to subside; and the deck seems getting into something like order. As
we are not to weigh anchor until five in the morning, some of the
passengers land for a stroll on shore. I decide to go to bed.
And now begins my first difficulty. I cannot find room to extend
myself, or even to turn. I am literally "cribbed, cabined, and
confined." Then there are the unfamiliar noises outside,--the cackling
of the ducks, the baa-ing of the sheep, the grunting of the
pigs,--possibly discussing the novelty of their position. And, nearly
all through the night, just outside my cabin, two or three of the
seamen sit talking together in gruff undertones.
I don't think I slept much during my first night on board. I was lying
semi-conscious, when a loud voice outside woke me up in an
instant--"The anchor's up! she's away!" I jumped up, and, looking out
of my little cabin window, peered out into the grey dawn. The shores
seemed moving, and we were off! I dressed at once, and went on deck.
But how raw and chill it felt as I went up the companion-ladder. A
little steam-tug ahead of us was under weigh, with the 'Yorkshire' in
tow. The deck was now pretty well cleared, but white with frost; while
the river banks were covered with snow.
Other ships were passing down stream, each with its tug; but we soon
distanced them all, especially when the men flung the sails to the
wind, now blowing fresh. At length, in about three-quarters of an
hour, the steamer took on board her tow-rope, and left us to proceed
on our voyage with a fair light breeze in our favour, and all our
canvas set.
When off the Nore, we hailed the 'Norfolk,' homeward bound--a fast
clipper ship belonging to the same firm (Money Wigram's line),--and a
truly grand sight she was under full sail. There were great cheerings
and wavings of hats,--she passing up the river and we out to sea.
I need not detain you with a description of my voyage down Channel. We
passed in succession Margate, Ramsgate, and Deal. The wind kept
favourable until we sighted Beachy Head, about half-past five in the
evening, and then it nearly died away. We were off Brighton when the
moon rose. The long stretch of lights along shore, the clear star-lit
sky, the bright moon, the ship gently rocking in the almost calm sea,
the sails idly flapping against the mast,--formed a picture of quiet
during my first night at sea, which I shall not soon forget.
But all this, I was told, was but "weather-breeding;" and it was
predicted that we were to have a change. The glass was falling and we
were to look out for squalls. Nor were the squalls long in coming.
Early next morning I was roused by the noise on deck and the rolling
of things about my cabin floor. I had some difficulty in dressing, not
having yet found my sea legs; but I succeeded in gaining the
companion-ladder and reaching the poop.
I found the wind had gone quite round in the night, and was now
blowing hard in our teeth, from the south-west. It was to be a case of
tacking down Channel,--a slow and, for landsmen, a very trying
process. In the midst of my first _mal de mer_, I was amused by the
appearance on board of one of my fellow-passengers. He was a small, a
very small individual, but possessed of a large stock of clothes,
which he was evidently glad to have an opportunity of exhibiting. He
first came up with a souwester on his head, the wrong end foremost,
and a pair of canvas shoes on his feet,--a sort of miniature Micawber,
or first-class cockney "salt," about to breast the briny. This small
person's long nose, large ears, and open mouth added to the
ludicrousness of his appearance. As the decks were wet and the morning
cold, he found the garb somewhat unsuitable, and dived below, to come
up again in strong boots and a straw hat. But after further
consideration, he retired again, and again he appeared in fresh
headgear--a huge seal-skin cap with lappets coming down over his ears.
This important and dressy little individual was a source of
considerable amusement to us; and there was scarcely an article in his
wardrobe that had not its turn during the day.
All night it blew a gale; the wind still from the same quarter. We
kept tacking between the coast of England and the opposite coast of
France, making but small way as regards mileage,--the wind being right
in our teeth. During the night, each time that the ship was brought
round on the other tack, there was usually a tremendous lurch; and
sometimes an avalanche of books descended upon me from the shelf
overhead. Yet I slept pretty soundly. Once I was awakened by a
tremendous noise outside--something like a gun going off. I afterwards
found it had been occasioned by the mainsail being blown away to sea,
right out of the bolt-ropes, the fastenings of which were immediately
outside my cabin window.
When I went on deck the wind was still blowing hard, and one had to
hold on to ropes or cleats to be able to stand. The whole sea was
alive, waves chasing waves and bounding over each other, crested with
foam. Now and then the ship would pitch her prow into a wave, even to
the bulwarks, dash the billow aside, and buoyantly rise again, bowling
along, though under moderate sail, because of the force of the gale.
The sea has some sad sights, of which one shortly presented itself.
About midday the captain sighted a vessel at some distance off on our
weather bow, flying a flag of distress--an ensign upside down. Our
ship was put about, and as we neared the vessel we found she had been
abandoned, and was settling fast in the water. Two or three of her
sails were still set, torn to shreds by the storm. The bulwarks were
pretty much gone, and here and there the bare stanchions, or posts,
were left standing, splitting in two the waves which broke clear over
her deck, lying almost even with the sea. She turned out to be the
'Rosa,' of Guernsey, a fine barque of 700 tons, and she had been
caught and disabled by the storm we had ourselves encountered. As
there did not seem to be a living thing on board, and we could be of
no use, we sailed away; and she must have gone down shortly after we
left her. Not far from the sinking ship we came across a boat bottom
upwards, most probably belonging to the abandoned ship. What of the
poor seamen? Have they been saved by other boats, or been taken off by
some passing vessel? If not, alas for their wives and children at
home! Indeed it was a sad sight.
But such things are soon forgotten at sea. We are too much occupied
by our own experiences to think much of others. For two more weary
days we went tacking about, the wind somewhat abating. Sometimes we
caught sight of the French coast through the mist; and then we tacked
back again. At length Eddystone light came in view, and we knew we
were not far from the entrance to Plymouth Sound. Once inside the
Breakwater, we felt ourselves in smooth water again.
Going upon deck in the morning, I found our ship anchored in the
harbour nearly opposite Mount Edgcumbe. Nothing could be more lovely
than the sight that presented itself. The noble bay, surrounded by
rocks, cliffs, cottages--Drake's Island, bristling with cannon,
leaving open a glimpse into the Hamoaze studded with great hulks of
old war-ships--the projecting points of Mount Edgcumbe Park, carpeted
with green turf down to the water and fringed behind by noble woods,
looking like masses of emerald cut into fret-work--then, in the
distance, the hills of Dartmoor, variegated with many hues, and swept
with alternations of light and shade--all these presented a picture,
the like of which I had never before seen and feel myself quite
incompetent to describe.
As we had to wait here for a fair wind, and the gale was still blowing
right into the harbour's mouth, there seemed no probability of our
setting sail very soon. We had, moreover, to make up our complement of
passengers, and provisions. Those who had a mind accordingly went on
shore, strolled through the town, and visited the Hoe, from which a
magnificent view of the harbour is obtained, or varied their bill of
fare by dining at an hotel.
We were, however, cautioned not to sleep on shore, but to return to
the ship for the night, and even during the day to keep a sharp
look-out for the wind; for, immediately on a change to the nor'ard, no
time would be lost in putting out to sea. We were further informed
that, in the case of nearly every ship, passengers, through their own
carelessness and dilly-dallying on shore, had been left behind. I
determined, therefore, to stick to the ship.
After three days' weary waiting, the wind at last went round; the
anchor was weighed with a willing "Yo! heave ho!" and in a few hours,
favoured by a fine light breeze, we were well out to sea, and the
brown cliffs of Old England gradually faded away in the distance.
CHAPTER II.
FLYING SOUTH.
FELLOW-PASSENGERS--LIFE ON BOARD SHIP--PROGRESS OF THE SHIP--HER
HANDLING--A FINE RUN DOWN TO THE LINE--SHIP'S AMUSEMENTS--CLIMBING THE
MIZEN--THE CAPE DE VERD ISLANDS--SAN ANTONIO.
_3rd March._--Like all passengers, I suppose, who come together on
board ship for a long voyage, we had scarcely passed the Eddystone
Lighthouse before we began to take stock of each other. Who is this?
What is he? Why is he going out? Such were the questions we inwardly
put to ourselves and sought to answer.
I found several, like myself, were making the voyage for their health.
A long voyage by sailing ship seems to have become a favourite
prescription for lung complaints; and it is doubtless an honest one,
as the doctor who gives it at the same time parts with his patient and
his fees. But the advice is sound; as the long rest of the voyage, the
comparatively equable temperature of the sea air, and probably the
improved quality of the atmosphere inhaled, are all favourable to the
healthy condition of the lungs as well as of the general system.
Of those going out in search of health, some were young and others
middle-aged. Amongst the latter was a patient, gentle sufferer,
racked by a hacking cough when he came on board. Another, a young
passenger, had been afflicted by abscess in his throat and incipient
lung-disease. A third had been worried by business and afflicted in
his brain, and needed a long rest. A fourth had been crossed in love,
and sought for change of scene and occupation.
But there were others full of life and health among the passengers,
going out in search of fortune or of pleasure. Two stalwart,
outspoken, manly fellows, who came on board at Plymouth, were on their
way to New Zealand to farm a large tract of land. They seemed to me to
be models of what colonial farmers should be. Another was on his way
to take up a run in Victoria, some 250 miles north of Melbourne. He
had three fine Scotch colley dogs with him, which were the subject of
general admiration.
We had also a young volunteer on board, who had figured at Brighton
reviews, and was now on his way to join his father in New Zealand,
where he proposed to join the colonial army. We had also a Yankee
gentleman, about to enter on his governorship of the Guano Island of
Maldon, in the Pacific, situated almost due north of the Society
Islands, said to have been purchased by an English company.
Some were going out on "spec." If they could find an opening to
fortune, they would settle; if not, they would return. One gentleman
was taking with him a fine portable photographic apparatus, intending
to visit New Zealand and Tasmania, as well as Australia.
Others were going out for indefinite purposes. The small gentleman,
for instance, who came on board at Gravesend with the extensive
wardrobe, was said to be going out to Australia to grow,--the
atmosphere and climate of the country being reported as having a
wonderful effect on growth. Another entertained me with a long account
of how he was leaving England because of his wife; but, as he was of a
somewhat priggish nature, I suspect the fault may have been his own as
much as hers.
And then there was the Major, a military and distinguished-looking
gentleman, who came on board, accompanied by a couple of shiny new
trunks, at Plymouth. He himself threw out the suggestion that the
raising of a colonial volunteer army was the grand object of his
mission. Anyhow, he had the manners of a gentleman. And he had seen
service, having lost his right arm in the Crimea and gone all through
the Indian Mutiny war with his left. He was full of fun, always in
spirits, and a very jolly fellow, though rather given to saying things
that would have been better left unsaid.
Altogether, we have seventeen saloon passengers on board, including
the captain's wife, the only lady at the poop end. There were also
probably about eighty second and third-class passengers in the forward
parts of the ship.
Although the wind was fair, and the weather fine, most of the
passengers suffered more or less from seasickness; but at length,
becoming accustomed to the motion of the ship, they gradually emerged
from their cabins, came on deck, and took part in the daily life on
board. Let me try and give a slight idea of what this is.
At about six every morning we are roused by the sailors holystoning
the decks, under the superintendence of the officer of the watch. A
couple of middies pump up water from the sea, by means of a pump
placed just behind the wheel. It fills the tub until it overflows,
running along the scuppers of the poop, and out on to the main-deck
through a pipe. Here the seamen fill their buckets, and proceed with
the scouring of the main-deck. Such a scrubbing and mopping!
I need scarcely explain that holystone is a large soft stone, used
with water, for scrubbing the dirt off the ship's decks. It rubs down
with sand; the sand is washed off by buckets of water thrown down, all
is well mopped, and the deck is then finished off with India-rubber
squilgees.
The poop is always kept most bright and clean. Soon after we left port
it assumed a greatly-improved appearance. The boards began to whiten
with the holystoning. Not a grease-mark or spot of dirt was to be
seen. All was polished off with hand-scrapers. On Sundays the ropes on
the poop were all neatly coiled, man-of-war fashion--not a bight out
of place. The brasswork was kept as bright as a gilt button.
By the time the passengers dressed and went on deck the cleaning
process was over, and the decks were dry. After half an hour's pacing
the poop the bell would ring for breakfast, the appetite for which
would depend very much upon the state of the weather and the lurching
of the ship. Between breakfast and lunch, more promenading on the
poop; the passengers sometimes, if the weather was fine, forming
themselves in groups on deck, cultivating each other's acquaintance.
During our first days at sea we had some difficulty in finding our sea
legs. The march of some up and down the poop was often very irregular,
and occasionally ended in disaster. Yet the passengers were not the
only learners; for, one day, we saw one of the cabin-boys, carrying a
heavy ham down the steps from a meat-safe on board, miss his footing
in a lurch of the ship, and away went our fine ham into the
lee-scuppers, spoilt and lost.
We lunched at twelve. From thence, until dinner at five, we mooned
about on deck as before, or visited sick passengers, or read in our
respective cabins, or passed the time in conversation; and thus the
day wore on. After dinner the passengers drew together in parties and
became social. In the pleasantly-lit saloon some of the elder subsided
into whist, while the juniors sought the middies in their cabin on the
main-deck, next door to the sheep-pen; there they entertained
themselves and each other with songs, accompanied by the concertina
and clouds of tobacco-smoke.
The progress of the ship was a subject of constant interest. It was
the first thing in the morning and the last at night; and all through
the day, the direction of the wind, the state of the sky and the
weather, and the rate we were going at, were the uppermost topics of
conversation.
When we left port the wind was blowing fresh on our larboard quarter
from the north-east, and we made good progress across the Bay of
Biscay; but, like many of our passengers, I was too much occupied by
private affairs to attend to the nautical business going on upon deck.
All I know was, that the wind was fair, and that we were going at a
good rate. On the fourth day, I found we were in the latitude of Cape
Finisterre, and that we had run 168 miles in the preceding 24 hours.
From this time forward, having got accustomed to the motion of the
ship, I felt sufficiently well to be on deck early and late, watching
the handling of the ship.
It was a fine sight to look up at the cloud of canvas above, bellied
out by the wind, like the wings of a gigantic bird, while the ship
bounded through the water, dashing it in foam from her bows, and
sometimes dipping her prow into the waves, and sending aloft a shower
of spray.
There was always something new to admire in the ship, and the way in
which she was handled: as, for instance, to see the topgallant sails
hauled down when the wind freshened, or a staysail set as the wind
went round to the east. The taking in of the mainsail on a stormy
night was a thing to be remembered for life: twenty-four men on the
great yard at a time, clewing it in to the music of the wind
whistling through the rigging. The men sing out cheerily at their
work, the one who mounts the highest, or stands the foremost on the
deck; usually taking the lead--
Hawl on the bowlin,
The jolly ship's a-rollin--
Hawl on the bowlin,
And we'll all drink rum.
In comes the rope with a "Yo! heave ho!" and a jerk, until the "belay"
sung out by the mate signifies that the work is done. Then, there is
the scrambling on the deck when the wind changes quarter, and the
yards want squaring as the wind blows more aft. Such are among the
interesting sights to be seen on deck when the wind is in her tantrums
at sea.
On the fifth day the wind was blowing quite aft. Our run during the
twenty-four hours was 172 miles. Thermometer 58 deg.. The captain is in
hopes of a most favourable run to the Cape. It is our first Sunday on
board, and at 10.30 the bell rings for service, when the passengers of
all classes assemble in the saloon. The alternate standing and
kneeling during the service is rather uncomfortable, the fixed seats
jamming the legs, and the body leaning over at an unpleasant angle
when the ship rolls, which she frequently does, and rather savagely.
Going upon deck next morning, I found the wind blowing strong from the
north, and the ship going through the water at a splendid pace. As
much sail was on as she could carry, and she dashed along, leaving a
broad track of foam in her wake. The captain is in high glee at the
speed at which we are going. "A fine run down to the Line!" he says,
as he walks the poop, smiling and rubbing his hands; while the middies
are enthusiastic in praises of the good ship, "walking the waters like
a thing of life." The spirits of all on board are raised by several
degrees. We have the pleasure of feeling ourselves bounding forward,
on towards the sunny south. There is no resting, but a constant
pressing onward, and, as we look over the bulwarks, the waves, tipped
by the foam which our ship has raised, seem to fly behind us at a
prodigious speed. At midday we find the ship's run during the
twenty-four hours has been 280 miles--a splendid day's work, almost
equal to steam!
We are now in latitude 39 deg. 16', about due east of the Azores. The air
is mild and warm; the sky is azure, and the sea intensely blue. How
different from the weather in the English Channel only a short week
ago! Bugs are now discarded, and winter clothing begins to feel almost
oppressive. In the evenings, as we hang over the taffrail, we watch
with interest the bluish-white sparks mingling with the light blue
foam near the stern--the first indications of that phosphorescence
which, I am told, we shall find so bright in the tropics.
An always interesting event at sea is the sighting of a distant ship.
To-day we signalled the 'Maitland,' of London, a fine ship, though she
was rolling a great deal, beating up against the wind that was
impelling us so prosperously forward. I hope she will report us on
arrival, to let friends at home know we are so far all right on our
voyage.
The wind still continues to blow in our wake, but not so strongly; yet
we make good progress. The weather keeps very fine. The sky seems to
get clearer, the sea bluer, and the weather more brilliant, and even
the sails look whiter, as we fly south. About midday on the eighth day
after leaving Plymouth we are in the latitude of Madeira, which we
pass about forty miles distant.
As the wind subsides, and the novelty of being on shipboard wears off,
the passengers begin to think of amusements. One cannot be always
reading; and, as for study, though I try Spanish and French
alternately, I cannot settle to them, and begin to think that life on
shipboard is not very favourable for study. We play at quoits--using
quoits of rope--on the poop, for a good part of the day. But this soon
becomes monotonous; and we begin to consider whether it may not be
possible to get up some entertainment on board to make the time pass
pleasantly. We had a few extempore concerts in one of the middies'
berths. The third-class passengers got up a miscellaneous
entertainment, including recitals, which went off very well. One of
the tragic recitations was so well received that it was encored. And
thus the time was whiled away, while we still kept flying south.
On the ninth day we are well south of Madeira. The sun is so warm at
midday that an awning is hung over the deck, and the shade it affords
is very grateful. We are now in the trade-winds, which blow pretty
steadily at this part of our course in a south-westerly direction, and
may generally be depended upon until we near the Equator. At midday of
the tenth day I find we have run 180 miles in the last twenty-four
hours, with the wind still steady on our quarter. We have passed
Teneriffe, about 130 miles distant--too remote to see it--though I am
told that, had we been twenty miles nearer, we should probably have
seen the famous peak.
To while away the time, and by way of a little adventure, I determined
at night to climb the mizen-mast with a fellow-passenger. While
leaving the deck I was chalked by a middy, in token that I was in for
my footing, so as to be free of the mizen-top. I succeeded in reaching
it safely, though to a green hand, as I was, it looks and really feels
somewhat perilous at first. I was sensible of the feeling of fear or
apprehension just at the moment of getting over the cross-trees. Your
body hangs over in mid-air, at a terrible incline backwards, and you
have to hold on like anything for just one moment, until you get your
knee up into the top. The view of the ship under press of canvas from
the mizen-top is very grand; and the phosphorescence in our wake,
billow upon billow of light shining foam, seemed more brilliant than
ever.
The wind again freshens, and on the eleventh day we make another fine
run of 230 miles. It is becoming rapidly warmer, and we shall soon be
in the region of bonitos, albatrosses, and flying fish--only a
fortnight after leaving England!
Our second Sunday at sea was beautiful exceedingly. We had service in
the saloon as usual; and, after church, I climbed the mizen, and had
half an hour's nap on the top. Truly this warm weather, and monotonous
sea life, seems very favourable for dreaming, and mooning, and
loafing. In the evening there was some very good hymn-singing in the
second-class cabin.
Early next morning, when pacing the poop, we were startled by the cry
from the man on the forecastle of "Land ho!" I found, by the direction
of the captain's eyes, that the land seen lay off our weather-beam.
But, though I strained my eyes looking for the land, I could see
nothing. It was not for hours that I could detect it; and then it
looked more like a cloud than anything else. At length the veil
lifted, and I saw the land stretching away to the eastward. It was the
island of San Antonio, one of the Cape de Verds.
As we neared the land, and saw it more distinctly, it looked a grand
object. Though we were then some fifteen miles off, yet the highest
peaks, which were above the clouds, some thousands of feet high, were
so clear and so beautiful that they looked as if they had been stolen
out of the 'Arabian Nights,' or some fairy tale of wonder and beauty.
The island is said to be alike famous for its oranges and pretty
girls. Indeed the Major, who is very good at drawing the long bow,
declared that he could see a very interesting female waving her hand
to him from a rock! With the help of the telescope we could certainly
see some of the houses on shore.
As this is the last land we are likely to see until we reach
Australia, we regard it with all the greater interest; and I myself
watched it in the twilight until it faded away into a blue mist on the
horizon.
CHAPTER III.
WITHIN THE TROPICS.
INCREASE OF TEMPERATURE--FLYING FISH--THE MORNING BATH ON
BOARD--PAYING "FOOTINGS"--THE MAJOR'S WONDERFUL STORIES--ST. PATRICK'S
DAY--GRAMPUSES--A SHIP IN SIGHT--THE 'LORD RAGLAN'--RAIN-FALL IN THE
TROPICS--TROPICAL SUNSETS--THE YANKEE WHALER.
_17th March_.--We are now fairly within the tropics. The heat
increases day by day. This morning, at eight, the temperature was 87 deg.
in my cabin. At midday, with the sun nearly overhead, it is really
hot. The sky is of a cloudless azure, with a hazy appearance towards
the horizon. The sea is blue, dark, deep blue--and calm.
Now we see plenty of flying-fish. Whole shoals of the glittering
little things glide along in the air, skimming the tops of the waves.
They rise to escape their pursuers, the bonitos, which rush after
them, showing their noses above the water now and then. But the poor
flying-fish have their enemies above the waters as well as under them;
for they no sooner rise than they risk becoming the prey of the ocean
birds, which are always hovering about and ready to pounce upon them.
It is a case of "out of the frying-pan into the fire." They fly
further than I thought they could. I saw one of them to-day fly at
least sixty yards, and sometimes they mount so high as to reach the
poop, some fifteen feet from the surface of the water.
One of the most pleasant events of the day is the morning bath on
board. You must remember the latitude we are in. We are passing along,
though not in sight of, that part of the African coast where a
necklace is considered full dress. We sympathise with the natives, for
we find clothes becoming intolerable; hence our enjoyment of the
morning bath, which consists in getting into a large tub on board and
being pumped upon by the hose. Pity that one cannot have it later, as
it leaves such a long interval between bath and breakfast; but it
freshens one up wonderfully, and is an extremely pleasant operation. I
only wish that the tub were twenty times as large, and the hose twice
as strong.
The wind continues in our favour, though gradually subsiding. During
the last two days we have run over 200 miles each day; but the captain
says that by the time we reach the Line the wind will have completely
died away. To catch a little of the breeze, I go up the rigging to the
top. Two sailors came up mysteriously, one on each side of the
ratlines. They are terrible fellows for making one pay "footings," and
their object was to intercept my retreat downwards. When they reached
me, I tried to resist; but it was of no use. I must be tied to the
rigging unless I promised the customary bottle of rum; so I gave in
with a good grace, and was thenceforward free to take an airing
aloft.
The amusements on deck do not vary much. Quoits, cards, reading, and
talking, and sometimes a game of romps, such as "Walk, my lady, walk!"
We have tried to form a committee, with a view to getting up some
Penny Reading or theatrical entertainment, and to ascertain whether
there be any latent talent aboard; but the heat occasions such a
languor as to be very unfavourable for work, and the committee lay
upon their oars, doing nothing.
One of our principal sources of amusement is the Major. He is
unfailing. His drawings of the long bow are as good as a theatrical
entertainment. If any one tells a story of something wonderful, he at
once "caps it," as they say in Yorkshire, by something still more
wonderful. One of the passengers, who had been at Calcutta, speaking
of the heat there, said it was so great as to make the pitch run out
of the ship's sides. "Bah!" said the Major, "that is nothing to what
it is in Ceylon; there the heat is so great as to melt the soldiers'
buttons off on parade, and then their jackets all get loose."
It seems that to-day (the 17th) is St. Patrick's Day. This the Major,
who is an Irishman, discovered only late in the evening, when he
declared he would have "given a fiver" if he had only known it in the
morning. But, to make up for lost time, he called out forthwith,
"Steward! whisky!" and he disposed of some seven or eight glasses in
the saloon before the lamps were put out; after which he adjourned to
one of the cabins, and there continued the celebration of St.
Patrick's Day until about two o'clock in the morning. On getting up
rather late, he said to himself, loud enough for me to overhear in my
cabin, "Well, George, my boy, you've done your duty to St. Patrick;
but he's left you a horrible bad headache!" And no wonder.
At last there is a promised novelty on board. Some original Christy's
Minstrels are in rehearsal, and the Theatrical Committee are looking
up amateurs for a farce. Readings from Dickens are also spoken of. An
occasional whale is seen blowing in the distance, and many grampuses
come rolling about the ship,--most inelegant brutes, some three or
four times the size of a porpoise. Each in turn comes up, throws
himself round on the top of the sea, exposing nearly half his body,
and then rolls off again.
To-day (the 20th March) we caught our first fish from the
forecastle,--a bonito, weighing about seven pounds. Its colour was
beautifully variegated: on the back dark blue, with a streak of light
blue silver on either side, and the belly silvery white. These fish
are usually caught from the jiboom and the martingale, as they play
about the bows of the ship. The only bait is a piece of white rag,
which is bobbed upon the surface of the water to imitate a
flying-fish.
But what interests us more than anything else at present is the
discovery of some homeward-bound ship, by which to despatch our
letters to friends at home. The captain tells us that we are now
almost directly in the track of vessels making for England from the
south; and that if we do not sight one in the course of a day or two,
we may not have the chance of seeing another until we are far on our
way south--if it all. We are, therefore, anxiously waiting for the
signal of a ship in sight; and, in the hope that one may appear, we
are all busily engaged in the saloon giving the finishing touches to
our home letters.
Shortly after lunch the word was given that no less than three ships
were in sight. Immense excitement on board! Everybody turned up on
deck. Passengers who had never been seen since leaving Plymouth, now
made their appearance to look out for the ships. One of them was a
steamer, recognizable by the line of smoke on the horizon, supposed to
be the West India mail-boat; another was outward-bound, like
ourselves; and the third was the homeward-bound ship for which we were
all on the look-out. She lay right across our bows, but was still a
long way off. As we neared her, betting began among the passengers,
led by the Major, as to whether she would take letters or not. The
scene became quite exciting. The captain ordered all who had letters
to be in readiness. I had been scribbling my very hardest ever since
the ships came in sight, and now I closed my letter and sealed it up.
Would the ship take our letters? Yes! She is an English ship, with an
English flag at her peak; and she signals for newspapers, preserved
milk, soap, and a doctor!
I petitioned for leave to accompany the doctor, and, to my great
delight, was allowed to do so. The wind had nearly gone quite down,
and only came in occasional slight gusts. The sea was, therefore,
comparatively calm, with only a long, slow swell; yet, even though
calm, there is some little difficulty in getting down into a boat in
mid-ocean. At one moment the boat is close under you, and at the next
she is some four yards down, and many feet apart from the side of the
ship; you have, therefore, to be prompt in seizing an opportunity, and
springing on board just at the right moment.
As we moved away from the 'Yorkshire,' with a good bundle of
newspapers and the other articles signalled for, and looked back upon
our ship, she really looked a grand object on the waters. The sun
shone full upon her majestic hull, her bright copper now and then
showing as she slowly rose and sank on the long swell. Above all were
her towers of white canvas, standing out in relief against the
leaden-coloured sky. Altogether, I don't think I have ever seen a more
magnificent sight. As we parted from the ship, the hundred or more
people on board gave us a ringing cheer.
Our men now pulled with a will towards the still-distant ship. As we
neared her, we observed that she must have encountered very heavy
weather, as part of her foremast and mainmast had been carried away.
Her sides looked dirty and worn, and all her ironwork was rusty, as if
she had been a long time at sea. She proved to be the 'Lord Raglan,'
of about 800 tons, bound from Bankok, in Siam, to Yarmouth.
The captain was delighted to see us, and gave us a most cordial
welcome. He was really a very nice fellow, and was kindness itself.
He took us down to his cabin, and treated us to Chinese beer and
cigars. The place was cheerful and comfortable-looking, and fitted up
with Indian and Chinese curiosities; yet I could scarcely reconcile
myself to living there. There was a dreadful fusty smell about, which,
I am told, is peculiar to Indian and Chinese ships. The vessel was
laden with rice, and the fusty heat which came up from below was
something awful.
The 'Lord Raglan' had been nearly two years from London. She had run
from London to Hong-Kong, and had since been engaged in trading
between there and Siam. She was now eighty-three days from Bankok. In
this voyage she had encountered some very heavy weather, in which she
had sprung her foremast, which was now spliced up all round. What
struck me was the lightness of her spars and the smallness of her
sails, compared with ours. Although her mainmast is as tall, it is not
so thick as our mizen, and her spars are very slender above the first
top. Yet the 'Raglan,' in her best days, used to be one of the crack
Melbourne clipper ships.
The kindly-natured captain was most loth to let us go. It was almost
distressing to see the expedients he adopted to keep us with him for a
few minutes longer. But it was fast growing dusk, and in the tropics
it darkens almost suddenly; so we were at last obliged to tear
ourselves away, and leave him with his soap, milk, and newspapers. He,
on his part, sent by us a twenty-pound chest of tea, as a present for
the chief mate (who was with us) and the captain. As we left the
ship's side we gave the master and crew of the 'Raglan' a hearty
"three times three." All this while the two vessels had been lying
nearly becalmed, so that we had not a very long pull before we were
safely back on board our ship.
For about five days we lie nearly idle, making very little progress,
almost on the Line. The trade-winds have entirely left us. The heat is
tremendous--130 deg. in the sun; and at midday, when the sun is right
overhead, it is difficult to keep the deck. Towards evening the
coolness is very pleasant; and when rain falls, as it can only fall in
the tropics, we rush out to enjoy the bath. We assume the thinnest of
_bizarre_ costumes, and stand still under the torrent, or vary the
pleasure by emptying buckets over each other.
We are now in lat. 0 deg. 22', close upon the Equator. Though our sails
are set, we are not sailing, but only floating: indeed, we seem to be
drifting. On looking round the horizon, I count no fewer than sixteen
ships in sight, all in the same plight as ourselves. We are drawn
together by an under-current or eddy, though scarcely a breath of wind
is stirring. We did not, however, speak any of the ships, most of them
being comparatively distant.
We cross the Line about 8 P.M. on the twentieth day from Plymouth. We
have certainly had a very fine run thus far, slow though our progress
now is, for we are only going at the rate of about a mile an hour; but
when we have got a little further south, we expect to get out of the
tropical calms and catch the southeast trade-winds.
On the day following, the 24th March, a breeze sprang up, and we made
a run of 187 miles. We have now passed the greatest heat, and shortly
expect cooler weather. Our spirits rise with the breeze, and we again
begin to think of getting up some entertainments on board; for, though
we have run some 4,800 miles from Plymouth, we have still some fifty
days before us ere we expect to see Melbourne.
One thing that strikes me much is the magnificence of the tropical
sunsets. The clouds assume all sorts of fantastic shapes, and appear
more solid and clearly defined than I have ever seen before. Towards
evening they seem to float in colour--purple, pink, red, and yellow
alternately--while the sky near the setting sun seems of a beautiful
green, gradually melting into the blue sky above. The great clouds on
the horizon look like mountains tipped with gold and fiery red. One of
these sunsets was a wonderful sight. The sun went down into the sea
between two enormous clouds--the only ones to be seen--and they blazed
with the brilliant colours I have described, which were constantly
changing, until the clouds stood out in dark relief against the still
delicately-tinted sky. I got up frequently to see the sun rise, but in
the tropics it is not nearly so fine at its rising as at its setting.
A ship was announced as being in sight, with a signal flying to speak
with us. We were sailing along under a favourable breeze, but our
captain put the ship about and waited for the stranger. It proved to
be a Yankee whaler. When the captain came on board, he said "he
guessed he only wanted newspapers." Our skipper was in a "roaring wax"
at being stopped in his course for such a trivial matter, but he said
nothing. The whaler had been out four years, and her last port was
Honolulu in the Sandwich Islands. The Yankee captain, amongst other
things, wanted to know if Grant was President, and if the 'Alabama'
question was settled; he was interested in the latter question, as the
'Alabama' had burnt one of his ships. He did not seem very comfortable
while on board, and when he had got his papers he took his leave. I
could not help admiring the whale-boat in which he was rowed back to
his own vessel. It was a beautiful little thing, though dirty; but, it
had doubtless seen much service. It was exquisitely modelled, and the
two seamen in the little craft handled it to perfection. How they
contrived to stand up in it quite steady, while the boat, sometimes
apparently half out of the water, kept rising and falling on the long
ocean-swell, seemed to me little short of marvellous.
CHAPTER IV.
THE 'BLUE JACKET.'
APRIL FOOLS' DAY--A SHIP IN SIGHT--THE 'PYRMONT'--THE RESCUED 'BLUE
JACKET' PASSENGERS--STORY OF THE BURNT SHIP--SUFFERING OF THE LADY
PASSENGERS IN AN OPEN BOAT--THEIR RESCUE--DISTRESSING SCENE ON BOARD
THE 'PYRMONT.'
_1st. April_.--I was roused early this morning by the cry outside of
"Get up! get up! There is a ship on fire ahead!" I got up instantly,
dressed, and hastened on deck, like many more. But there was no ship
on fire; and then we laughed, and remembered that it was All Fools'
Day.
In the course of the forenoon we descried a sail, and shortly after we
observed that she was bearing down upon us. The cry of "Letters for
home!" was raised, and we hastened below to scribble a few last words,
close our letters, and bring them up for the letter-bag.
By this time the strange ship had drawn considerably nearer, and we
saw that she was a barque, heavily laden. She proved to be the
'Pyrmont,' a German vessel belonging to Hamburg, but now bound for
Yarmouth from Iquique, with a cargo of saltpetre on board. When she
came near enough to speak to us, our captain asked, "What do you
want?" The answer was, "'Blue Jacket' burnt at sea; her passengers on
board. Have you a doctor?" Here was a sensation! Our April Fools'
alarm was true after all. A vessel _had_ been on fire, and here were
the poor passengers asking for help. We knew nothing of the 'Blue
Jacket,' but soon we were to know all.
A boat was at once lowered from the davits, and went off with the
doctor and the first mate. It was a hazy, sultry, tropical day, with a
very slight breeze stirring, and very little sea. Our main-yard was
backed to prevent our further progress, and both ships lay-to within a
short distance of each other. We watched our boat until we saw the
doctor and officer mount the 'Pyrmont,' and then waited for further
intelligence.
Shortly after we saw our boat leaving the ship's side, and as it
approached we observed that it contained some strangers, as well as
our doctor, who had returned for medicines, lint, and other
appliances. When the strangers reached the deck we found that one of
them was the first officer of the unfortunate 'Blue Jacket,' and the
other one of the burnt-out passengers. The latter, poor fellow, looked
a piteous sight. He had nothing on but a shirt and pair of trowsers;
his hair was matted, his face haggard, his eyes sunken. He was without
shoes, and his feet were so sore that he could scarcely walk without
support.
And yet it turned out that this poor suffering fellow was one of the
best-conditioned of those who had been saved from the burnt ship. He
told us how that the whole of the fellow-passengers whom he had just
left on board the 'Pyrmont' wanted clothes, shirts, and shoes, and
were in a wretched state, having been tossed about at sea in an open
boat for about nine days, during which they had suffered the
extremities of cold, thirst, and hunger.
We were horrified by the appearance, and still more by the recital, of
the poor fellow. Every moment he astonished us by new details of
horror. But it was of no use listening to more. We felt we must do
something. All the passengers at once bestirred themselves, and went
into their cabins to seek out any clothing they could spare for the
relief of the sufferers. I found I could give trowsers, shirts, a pair
of drawers, a blanket, and several pocket-handkerchiefs; and as the
other passengers did likewise, a very fair bundle was soon made up and
sent on board the 'Pyrmont.'
Of course we were all eager to know something of the details of the
calamity which had befallen the 'Blue Jacket.' It was some time before
we learnt them all; but as two of the passengers--who had been
gold-diggers in New Zealand--were so good as to write out a statement
for the doctor, the original of which now lies before me, I will
endeavour, in as few words as I can, to give you some idea of the
burning of the ship and the horrible sufferings of the passengers.
The 'Blue Jacket' sailed from Port Lyttleton, New Zealand, for London
on the 13th February, 1869, laden with wool, cotton, flax, and 15,000
ounces of gold. There were seven first-cabin passengers and seventeen
second-cabin. The ship had a fine run to Cape Horn and past the
Falkland Islands. All went well until the 9th March, when in latitude
50 deg. 26' south, one of the seamen, about midday, observed smoke issuing
from the fore-hatchhouse. The cargo was on fire! All haste was made to
extinguish it. The fire-engines were set to work, passengers as well
as crew working with a will, and at one time it seemed as if the fire
would be got under. The hatch was opened and the second mate attempted
to go down, with the object of getting up and throwing overboard the
burning bales, but he was drawn back insensible. The hatch was again
closed, and holes were cut in the deck to pass the water down; but the
seat of the fire could not be reached. The cutter was lowered,
together with the two lifeboats, for use in case of need. About 7.30
P.M. the fire burst through the decks, and in about half an hour the
whole forecastle was enveloped in flames, which ran up the rigging,
licking up the foresail and fore-top. The mainmast being of iron, the
flames rushed through the tube as through a chimney, until it became
of a white heat. The lady-passengers in the after part of the ship
must have been kept in a state of total ignorance of the ship's
danger, otherwise it is impossible to account for their having to rush
on board the boats, at the last moment, with only the dresses they
wore. Only a few minutes before they left the ship, one of the ladies
was playing the 'Guards' Waltz on the cabin piano!
There was no hope of safety but in the boats, which were hurriedly got
into. On deck, everything was in a state of confusion. Most of the
passengers got into the cutter, but without a seaman to take charge
of it. When the water-cask was lowered, it was sent bung downwards,
and nearly half the water was lost. By this time the burning ship was
a grand but fearful sight, and the roar of the flames was frightful to
hear. At length the cutter and the two lifeboats got away, and as they
floated astern the people in them saw the masts disappear one by one
and the hull of the ship a roaring mass of fire.
In the early grey of the morning the three boats mustered, and two of
the passengers, who were on one of the lifeboats, were taken on board
the cutter. It now contained 37 persons, including the captain, first
officer, doctor, steward, purser, several able-bodied seamen, and all
the passengers; while the two lifeboats had 31 of the crew. The boats
drifted about all day, there being no wind, and the burning ship was
still in sight. On the third day the lifeboats were not to be seen;
each had a box of gold on board, by way of ballast.
A light breeze having sprung up, sail was made on the cutter, the
captain intending to run for the Falkland Islands. The sufferings of
the passengers increased from day to day; they soon ran short of
water, until the day's allowance was reduced to about two
tablespoonfuls for each person. It was pitiful to hear the little
children calling for more, but it could not be given them: men, women,
and children had to share alike. Provisions failed. The biscuit had
been spoiled by the salt water; all that remained in the way of food,
was preserved meat, which was soon exhausted, after which the only
allowance, besides the two tablespoonfuls of water, was a
tablespoonful of preserved soup every twenty-four hours. Meanwhile the
wind freshened, the sea rose, and the waves came dashing over the
passengers, completely drenching them. The poor ladies, thinly clad,
looked the pictures of misery.
Thus seven days passed--days of slow agony, such as words cannot
describe--until at last the joyous words, "A sail! a sail," roused the
sufferers to new life. A man was sent to the masthead with a red
blanket to hoist by way of signal of distress. The ship saw the signal
and bore down upon the cutter. She proved to be the 'Pyrmont,' the
ship lying within sight of us, and between which and the 'Yorkshire'
our boat kept plying for the greater part of the day.
Strange to say, the rescued people suffered more after they had got on
board the 'Pyrmont' than they had done during their period of
starvation and exposure. Few of them could stand or walk when taken on
board, all being reduced to the last stage of weakness. Scarcely had
they reached the 'Pyrmont' ere the third steward died; next day the
ship's purser died insane; and two days after, one of the second-cabin
passengers died. The others, who recovered, broke out in sores and
boils, more particularly on their hands and feet; and when the
'Yorkshire' met them, many of the passengers as well as the crew of
the burnt 'Blue Jacket' were in a most pitiable plight.
I put off with the third boat which left our ship's side for the
'Pyrmont.' We were lying nearly becalmed all this time, so that
passing between the ships by boat was comparatively easy. We took with
us as much fresh water as we could spare, together with provisions and
other stores. I carried with me a few spare books for the use of the
'Blue Jacket' passengers.
On reaching the deck of the 'Pyrmont,' the scene which presented
itself was such as I think I shall never forget. The three rescued
ladies were on the poop; and ladies you could see they were, in spite
of their scanty and dishevelled garments. The dress of one of them
consisted of a common striped man's shirt, a waterproof cloak made
into a skirt, and a pair of coarse canvas slippers, while on her
finger glittered a magnificent diamond ring. The other ladies were no
better dressed, and none of them had any covering for the head. Their
faces bore distinct traces of the sufferings they had undergone. Their
eyes were sunken, their cheeks pale, and every now and then a sort of
spasmodic twitch seemed to pass over their features. One of them could
just stand, but could not walk; the others were comparatively
helpless. A gentleman was lying close by the ladies, still suffering
grievously in his hands and feet from the effects of his long exposure
in the open boat, while one side of his body was completely paralysed.
One poor little boy could not move, and the doctor said he must lose
one or two of his toes through mortification.
One of the ladies was the wife of the passenger gentleman who had
first come on board of our ship. She was a young lady, newly married,
who had just set out on her wedding trip. What a terrible beginning of
married life! I found she had suffered more than the others through
her devotion to her husband. He was, at one time, constantly employed
in baling the boat, and would often have given way but for her. She
insisted on his taking half her allowance of water, so that he had
three tablespoonfuls daily instead of two; whereas she had only one!
While in the boat the women and children were forced to sit huddled up
at one end of it, covered with a blanket, the seas constantly breaking
over them and soaking through everything. They had to sit upright, and
in very cramped postures, for fear of capsizing the boat; and the
little sleep they got could only be snatched sitting. Yet they bore
their privations with great courage and patience, and while the men
were complaining and swearing, the women and children never uttered a
complaint.
I had a long talk with the ladies, whom I found very resigned and most
grateful for their deliverance. I presented my books, which were
thankfully received, and the newly-married lady, forgetful of her
miseries, talked pleasantly and intelligently about current topics,
and home news. It did seem strange for me to be sitting on the deck of
the 'Pyrmont,' in the middle of the Atlantic, talking with these
shipwrecked ladies about the last new novel!
At last we took our leave, laden with thanks, and returned on board
our ship. It was now growing dusk. We had done all that we could for
the help of the poor sufferers on board the 'Pyrmont,' and, a light
breeze springing up, all sail was set, and we resumed our voyage
south.
Two of the gold-diggers, who had been second-class passengers by the
'Blue Jacket,' came on board our ship with the object of returning
with us to Melbourne, and it is from their recital that I have
collated the above account of the disaster.
CHAPTER V.
IN THE SOUTH ATLANTIC.
PREPARING FOR ROUGH WEATHER--THE 'GEORGE THOMPSON' CLIPPER--A RACE AT
SEA--SCENE FROM 'PICKWICK' ACTED--FISHING FOR ALBATROSS--DISSECTION
AND DIVISION OF THE BIRD--WHALES--STRONG GALE--SMASH IN THE
CABIN--SHIPPING A GREEN SEA--THE SEA BIRDS IN OUR WAKE--THE CROZET
ISLANDS.
_11th April_.--We are now past the pleasantest part of our voyage, and
expect to encounter much rougher seas. Everything is accordingly
prepared for heavy weather. The best and newest sails are bent; the
old and worn ones are sent below. We may have to encounter storms or
even cyclones in the Southern Ocean, and our captain is now ready for
any wind that may blow. For some days we have had a very heavy swell
coming up from the south, as if there were strong winds blowing in
that quarter. We have, indeed, already had a taste of dirty weather
to-day--hard rain, with a stiffish breeze; but as the ship is still
going with the wind and sea, we do not as yet feel much inconvenience.
A few days since, we spoke a vessel that we had been gradually coming
up to for some time, and she proved to be the 'George Thompson,' a
splendid Aberdeen-built clipper, one of the fastest ships out of
London. No sooner was this known, than it became a matter of great
interest as to whether we could overhaul the clipper. Our ship,
because of the height and strength of her spars, enables us to carry
much more sail, and we are probably equal to the other ship in lighter
breezes; but she, being clipper-built and so much sharper, has the
advantage of us in heavier winds. The captain was overjoyed at having
gained upon the other vessel thus far, for she left London five days
before we sailed from Plymouth. As we gradually drew nearer, the
breeze freshened, and there became quite an exciting contest between
the ships. We gained upon our rival, caught up to her, and gradually
forged ahead, and at sundown the 'George Thompson' was about six miles
astern. Before we caught up to her she signalled to us, by way of
chaff, "Signal us at Lloyd's!" and when we had passed her, we
signalled back, "We wish you a good voyage!"
The wind having freshened during the night, the 'George Thompson' was
seen gradually creeping up to us with all her sail set. The wind was
on our beam, and the 'George Thompson's' dark green hull seemed to us
sometimes almost buried in the sea, and we only saw her slanting deck
as she heeled over from the freshening breeze. What a cloud of canvas
she carried! The spray flew up and over her decks, as she plunged
right through the water.
The day advanced; she continued to gain, and towards evening she
passed on our weather-side. The captain, of course, was savage; but
the race was not lost yet. On the following day, with a lighter wind,
we again overhauled our rival, and at night left her four or five
miles behind. Next day she was not to be seen. We had thus far
completely outstripped the noted clipper.[1]
We again begin to reconsider the question of giving a popular
entertainment on board. The ordinary recreations of quoit-playing, and
such like, have become unpopular, and a little variety is wanted. A
reading from 'Pickwick' is suggested; but cannot we contrive to _act_
a few of the scenes! We determine to get up three of the most
attractive:--1st. The surprise of Mrs. Bardell in Pickwick's arms;
2nd. The notice of action from Dodson and Fogg; and 3rd. The Trial
scene. A great deal of time is, of course, occupied in getting up the
scenes, and in the rehearsals, which occasion a good deal of
amusement. A London gentleman promises to make a capital Sam Weller;
our clergyman a very good Buzfuz; and our worthy young doctor the
great Pickwick himself.
At length all is ready, and the affair comes off in the main-hatch,
where there is plenty of room. The theatre is rigged out with flags,
and looks quite gay. The passengers of all classes assemble, and make
a goodly company. The whole thing went off very well--indeed, much
better than was expected--though I do not think the third-class
passengers quite appreciated the wit of the piece. Strange to say,
the greatest success of the evening was the one least expected--the
character of Mrs. Cluppins. One of the middies who took the part, was
splendid, and evoked roars of laughter.
Our success has made us ambitious, and we think of getting up another
piece--a burlesque, entitled 'Sir Dagobert and the Dragon,' from one
of my Beeton's 'Annuals.' There is not much in it; but, _faute de
mieux_, it may do very well. But to revert to less "towny" and much
more interesting matters passing on board.
We were in about the latitude of the Cape of Good Hope when we saw our
first albatross; but as we proceeded south, we were attended by
increasing numbers of those birds as well as of Mother Carey's
chickens, the storm-birds of the South Seas. The albatross is a
splendid bird, white on the breast and the inside of the wings, the
rest of the body being deep brown and black.
One of the most popular amusements is "fishing" for an albatross,
which is done in the following manner. A long and stout line is let
out, with a strong hook at the end baited with a piece of meat, buoyed
up with corks. This is allowed to trail on the water at the stern of
the ship. One or other of the sea-birds wheeling about, seeing the
floating object in the water, comes up, eyes it askance, and perhaps
at length clumsily flops down beside it. The line is at once let out,
so that the bait may not drag after the ship. If this be done
cleverly, and there be length enough of line to let out quickly, the
bird probably makes a snatch at the meat, and the hook catches hold of
his curved bill. Directly he grabs at the pork, and it is felt that
the albatross is hooked, the letting out of the line is at once
stopped, and it is hauled in with all speed. The great thing is to
pull quickly, so as to prevent the bird getting the opportunity of
spreading his wings, and making a heavy struggle as he comes along on
the surface of the water. It is a good heavy pull for two men to get
up an albatross if the ship is going at any speed. The poor fellow,
when hauled on deck, is no longer the royal bird that he seemed when
circling above our heads with his great wings spread out only a few
minutes ago. Here he is quite helpless, and tries to waddle about like
a great goose; the first thing he often does being to void all the
contents of his stomach, as if he were seasick.
The first albatross we caught was not a very large one, being only
about ten feet from tip to tip of the wings; whereas the larger birds
measure from twelve to thirteen feet. The bird, when caught, was held
firmly down, and despatched by the doctor with the aid of prussic
acid. He was then cut up, and his skin, for the sake of the feathers
and plumage, divided amongst us. The head and neck fell to my share,
and, after cleaning and dressing it, I hung my treasure by a string
out of my cabin-window; but, when I next went to look at it, lo! the
string had been cut, and my albatross's head and neck were gone.
All day the saloon and various cabins smelt very fishy by reason of
the operations connected with the dissecting and cleaning of the
several parts of the albatross. One was making a pipe-stem out of one
of the long wing-bones. Another was making a tobacco pouch out of the
large feet of the bird. The doctor's cabin was like a butcher's shop
in these bird-catching times. Part of his floor would be occupied by
the bloody skin of the great bird, stretched out upon boards, with the
doctor on his knees beside it working away with his dissecting
scissors and pincers, getting the large pieces of fat off the skin.
Esculapius seemed quite to relish the operation; whilst, on the other
hand the clergyman, who occupied the same cabin, held his handkerchief
to his nose, and regarded the debris of flesh and feathers on the
floor with horror and dismay.
Other birds, of a kind we had not before seen shortly made their
appearance, flying round the ship. There is, for instance, the
whale-bird, perfectly black on the top of the wings and body, and
white underneath. It is, in size, between a Mother Carey and a
Molly-hawk, which latter is very nearly as big as an albatross.
Ice-birds and Cape-pigeons also fly about us in numbers; the latter
are about the size of ordinary pigeons, black, mottled with white on
the back, and grey on the breast.
A still more interesting sight was that of a great grampus, which rose
close to the ship, exposing his body as he leapt through a wave.
Shortly after, a few more were seen at a greater distance, as if
playing about and gambolling for our amusement.
_17th April_.--The weather is growing sensibly colder. Instead of
broiling under cover, in the thinnest of garments, we now revert to
our winter clothing for comfort. Towards night the wind rose, and
gradually increased until it blew a heavy gale, so strong that all the
sails had to be taken in--all but the foresail and the main-topsail
closely reefed. Luckily for us, the wind was nearly aft, so that we
did not feel its effects nearly so much as if it had been on our beam.
Tonight we rounded the Cape, twenty-four days from the Line and
forty-five from Plymouth.
On the following day the wind was still blowing hard. When I went on
deck in the morning, I found that the mainsail had been split up the
middle, and carried away with a loud bang to sea. The ship was now
under mizen-topsail, close-reefed main-topsail, and fore-topsail and
foresail, no new mainsail having been bent. The sea was a splendid
sight. Waves, like low mountains, came rolling after us, breaking
along each side of the ship. I was a personal sufferer by the gale. I
had scarcely got on deck when the wind whisked off my Scotch cap with
the silver thistle in it, and blew it away to sea. Then, in going down
to my cabin, I found my books, boxes, and furniture lurching about;
and, to wind up with, during the evening I was rolled over while
sitting on one of the cuddy chairs, and broke it. Truly a day full of
small misfortunes for me!
In the night I was awakened by the noise and the violent rolling of
the ship. The mizen-mast strained and creaked; chairs had broken loose
in the saloon; crockery was knocking about and smashing up in the
steward's pantry. In the cabin adjoining, the water-can and bath were
rambling up and down; and in the midst of all the hubbub the Major
could be heard shouting, "Two to one on the water-can!" "They were
just taking the fences," he said. There were few but had some mishap
in their cabins. One had a hunt after a box that had broken loose;
another was lamenting the necessity of getting up after his
washhand-basin and placing his legs in peril outside his bunk. Before
breakfast I went on deck to look at the scene. It was still blowing a
gale. We were under topsails and mainsail, with a close-reefed
top-sail on the mizen-mast. The sight from the poop is splendid. At
one moment we were high up on the top of a wave, looking into a deep
valley behind us; at another we were down in the trough of the sea,
with an enormous wall of water coming after us. The pure light-green
waves were crested with foam, which curled over and over, and never
stopped rolling. The deck lay over at a dreadful slant to a landsman's
eye; indeed, notwithstanding holding on to everything I could catch, I
fell four times during the morning.
With difficulty I reached the saloon, where the passengers had
assembled for breakfast. Scarcely had we taken out seats when an
enormous sea struck the ship, landed on the poop, dashed in the saloon
skylight, and flooded the table with water. This was a bad event for
those who had not had their breakfast. As I was mounting the cuddy
stairs, I met the captain coming down thoroughly soaked. He had been
knocked down, and had to hold on by a chain to prevent himself being
washed about the deck. The officer of the watch afterwards told me
that he had seen his head bobbing up and down amidst the water, of
which there were tons on the poop.
This was what they call "shipping a green sea,"--so called because so
much water is thrown upon the deck that it ceases to have the frothy
appearance of smaller seas when shipped, but looks a mass of solid
green water. Our skipper afterwards told us at dinner that the captain
of the 'Essex' had not long ago been thrown by such a sea on to one of
the hen-coops that run round the poop, breaking through the iron bars,
and that he had been so bruised that he had not yet entirely recovered
from his injuries. Such is the tremendous force of water in violent
motion at sea.[2]
When I went on deck again, the wind had somewhat abated, but the sea
was still very heavy. While on the poop, one enormous wave came
rolling on after us, seeming as if it must engulf the ship. But the
stern rose gradually and gracefully as the huge wave came on, and it
rolled along, bubbling over the sides of the main-deck, and leaving it
about two feet deep in water. As the day wore on the wind gradually
went down, and it seemed as if we were to have another spell of fine
weather.
[Illustration: (Map of the Ship's Course, Plymouth to Melbourne)]
Next morning the sun shone clear; the wind had nearly died away,
though a heavy swell still crossed our quarter. Thousands of sea-birds
flew about us, and clusters were to be seen off our stern, as far as
the eye could reach. They seemed, though on a much larger scale, to be
hanging upon our track, just as a flock of crows hang over the track
of a plough in the field, and doubtless for the same reason--to pick
up the food thrown up by the mighty keel of our ship. Most of them
were ice-birds, blue petrels, and whale-birds, with a large admixture
of albatrosses and Mother Carey's chickens. One of the passengers
caught and killed one of the last-named birds, at which the captain
was rather displeased, the sailors having a superstition about these
birds, that it is unlucky to kill them. An ice-bird was caught, and a
very pretty bird it is, almost pure white, with delicate blue feet and
beak. Another caught a Cape pigeon, and I caught a stink-pot, a large
bird measuring about eight feet from wing to wing. The bird was very
plucky when got on deck, and tried to peck at us; but we soon had him
down. As his plumage was of no use, we fastened a small tin-plate to
his leg, with 'Yorkshire' scratched on it, and let him go. But it was
some time before he rose from his waddling on the deck, spread his
wings, and sailed into the air.
Some of the passengers carry on shooting at the numerous birds from
the stern of the ship; but it is cruel sport. It may be fun to us, but
it is death to the birds. And not always death. Poor things! It is a
pitiful sight to see one of them, pricked or winged, floating away
with its wounds upon it, until quite out of sight. Such sport seems
cruel, if it be not cowardly.
_23rd April_.--We are now in latitude 45.16 deg. south, and the captain
tells us that during the night we may probably sight the Crozet
Islands. It seems that these islands are inaccurately marked on the
charts, some of even the best authorities putting them from one and a
half to two degrees out both in latitude and longitude, as the captain
showed us by a late edition of a standard work on navigation. Once he
came pretty well south on purpose to sight them; but when he reached
the precise latitude in which, according to his authority, they were
situated, they were not to be seen.
At 8 P.M. the man on the look-out gave the cry of "Land ho!" "Where
away?" "On the lee beam." I strained my eyes in the direction
indicated, but could make out nothing like land. I could see
absolutely nothing but water all round. Two hours passed before I
could discern anything which could give one the idea of land--three
small, misty, cloud-looking objects, lying far off to the south, which
were said to be the islands. In about an hour more we were within
about five miles of Les Apotres, part of the group, having passed
Cochon in the distance. Cochon is so called because of the number of
wild pigs on the island. The largest, Possession Island, gave refuge
to the shipwrecked crew of a whaler for about two years, when they
were at length picked off by a passing ship. The Crozets are of
volcanic origin, and some of them present a curious, conical, and
sometimes fantastic appearance, more particularly Les Apotres. The
greater number of them are quite barren, the only vegetation of the
others consisting of a few low stunted bushes.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 1: It may, however, be added, that though we did not again
sight the 'George Thompson' during our voyage, she arrived at
Melbourne about forty-eight hours before our ship.]
[Footnote 2: Mr. G. Stevenson registered a force of three tons per
square foot at Skerryvore during a gale in the Atlantic, when the
waves were supposed to be twenty feet high.]
CHAPTER VI.
NEARING AUSTRALIA--THE LANDING.
ACTING ON BOARD--THE CYCLONE--CLEANING THE SHIP FOR PORT--CONTRARY
WINDS--AUSTRALIA IN SIGHT--CAPE OTWAY--PORT PHILLIP HEADS--PILOT TAKEN
ON BOARD--INSIDE THE HEADS--WILLIAMSTOWN--SANDRIDGE--THE LANDING.
More theatricals! 'Sir Dagobert and the Dragon' is played, and comes
off very well. The extemporised dresses and "properties" are the most
amusing of all. The company next proceed to get up 'Aladdin and the
Wonderful Scamp' to pass the time, which hangs heavy on our hands. We
now begin to long for the termination of our voyage. We have sailed
about 10,000 miles, but have still about 3000 more before us.
_30th April_.--To-day we have made the longest run since we left
Plymouth, not less than 290 miles in twenty-four hours. We have before
made 270, but then the sea was smooth, and the wind fair. Now the wind
is blowing hard on our beam, with a heavy sea running. About 3 P.M. we
sighted a barque steering at right angles to our course. In a short
time we came up with her, and found that she was the Dutch barque
'Vrede,' ninety-eight days from Amsterdam and bound for Batavia. She
crossed so close to our stern that one might almost have pitched a
biscuit on board.
During the night the sea rose, the wind blowing strong across our
beam, and the ship pitched and rolled as she is said never to have
done since she was built. There was not much sleep for us that night.
The wind increased to a strong gale, until at length it blew quite a
hurricane. It was scarcely possible to stand on deck. The wind felt as
if it blew solid. The ship was driving furiously along under
close-reefed topsails. Looking over the side, one could only see the
black waves, crested with foam, scudding past.
It appears that we are now in a cyclone--not in the worst part of it,
but in the inner edge of the outside circle. Skilful navigators know
by experience how to make their way out of these furious ocean winds,
and our captain was equal to the emergency. In about seven hours we
were quite clear of it, though the wind blew fresh, and the ship
rolled heavily, the sea continuing for some time in a state of great
agitation.
For some days the wind keeps favourable, and our ship springs forward
as if she knew her port, and was eager to reach it. A few more days
and we may be in sight of Australia. We begin almost to count the
hours. In anticipation of our arrival, the usual testimonial to the
captain is set on foot, all being alike ready to bear testimony to his
courtesy and seamanship. On deck, the men began to holystone the
planks, polish up the brasswork, and make everything shipshape for
port. The middies are at work here on the poop, each "with a sharp
knife and a clear conscience," cutting away pieces of tarry rope. New
ratlines are being fastened up across the shrouds. The standing
rigging is re-tarred and shines black. The deck is fresh scraped as
well as the mizen-mast, and the white paint-pot has been used freely.
_9th May._--We are now in Australian waters, sailing along under the
lee of Cape Leeuwin, though the land is not yet in sight. Australian
birds are flying about our ship, unlike any we have yet seen. We beat
up against the wind which is blowing off the land, our yards slewed
right round. It is provoking to be so near the end of our voyage, and
blown back when almost in sight of port.
_14th May._--After four days of contrary wind, it changed again, and
we are now right for Melbourne. Our last theatrical performance came
off with great _eclat_. The captain gave his parting supper after the
performance; and the _menu_ was remarkable, considering that we had
been out eighty-one days from Gravesend. There were ducks, fowls,
tongues, hams, with lobster-salads, oyster pattes, jellies,
blanc-manges, and dessert. Surely the art of preserving fresh meat and
comestibles must have nearly reached perfection. To wind up, songs
were sung, toasts proposed, and the captain's testimonial was
presented amidst great enthusiasm.
_18th May._--We sighted the Australian land to-day about thirteen
miles off Cape Otway. The excitement on board was very great; and no
wonder, after so long a voyage. Some were going home there, to rejoin
their families, relatives, and friends. Others were going there for
pleasure or for health. Perhaps the greater number regarded it as the
land of their choice--a sort of promised land--where they were to make
for themselves a home, and hoped to carve out for themselves a road to
competency if not to fortune.
We gradually neared the land, until we were only about five miles
distant from it. The clouds lay low on the sandy shore; the dark-green
scrub here and there reaching down almost to the water's edge. The
coast is finely undulating, hilly in some places, and well wooded.
Again we beat off the land, to round Cape Otway, whose light we see.
Early next morning we signal the lighthouse, and the news of our
approaching arrival will be forthwith telegraphed to Melbourne. The
wind, however, dies away when we are only about thirty miles from Port
Phillip Heads, and there we lie idly becalmed the whole afternoon, the
ship gently rolling in the light-blue water, the sails flapping
against the masts, or occasionally drawing half full, with a fitful
puff of wind. Our only occupation was to watch the shore, and with the
help of the telescope we could make out little wooden huts half hidden
in the trees, amidst patches of cultivated land. As the red sun set
over the dark-green hills, there sprang up the welcome evening breeze,
which again filled our canvas, and the wavelets licked the ship's
sides as she yielded to the wind, and at last sped us on to Port
Phillip.
At midnight we are in sight of the light at the entrance of the bay.
Then we are taken in tow by a tug, up to the Heads, where we wait
until sunrise for our pilot to come on board. The Heads are low necks
of sandy hillocks, one within another, that guard the entrance to the
extensive bay of Port Phillip. On one side is Point Lonsdale, and on
the other Point Nepean.
_21st May._--Our pilot comes on board early, and takes our ship in
charge. He is a curious-looking object, more like a Jew bailiff than
anything else I can think of, and very unlike an English "salt." But
the man seems to know his work, and away we go, tugged by our steamer.
A little inside the Heads, we are boarded by the quarantine officer,
who inquires as to the health of the ship, which is satisfactory, and
we proceed up the bay. Shortly after, we pass, on the west,
Queenscliffe, a pretty village built on a bit of abrupt headland, the
houses of which dot the green sward. The village church is a pleasant
object in the landscape. We curiously spy the land as we pass. By the
help of the telescope we can see signs of life on shore. We observe,
amongst other things, an early tradesman's cart, drawn by a
fast-trotting pony, driving along the road. More dwellings appear,
amidst a pretty, well cultivated, rolling landscape.
At length we lose sight of the shore, proceeding up the bay towards
Melbourne, which is nearly some 30 miles distant, and still below the
horizon. Sailing on, the tops of trees rise up; then low banks of
sand, flat tracts of bush, and, slightly elevated above them,
occasional tracts of clear yellow space. Gradually rising up in the
west, distant hills come in sight; and, towards the north, an
undulating region is described, stretching round the bay inland.
We now near the northern shore, and begin to perceive houses, and
ships, and spires. The port of Williamstown comes in sight, full of
shipping, as appears by the crowd of masts. Outside of it is Her
Majesty's ship 'Nelson,' lying at anchor. On the right is the village
or suburb of St. Kilda, and still further round is Brighton.
Sandridge, the landing-place of Melbourne, lies right ahead of us, and
over the masts of shipping we are pointed to a mass of houses in the
distance, tipped with spires and towers, and are told, "There is the
city of Melbourne!"
At 5 P.M. we were alongside the large wooden railway-pier of
Sandridge, and soon many of our fellow-passengers were in the arms of
their friends and relatives. Others, of whom I was one, had none to
welcome us; but, like the rest, I took my ticket for Melbourne, only
some three miles distant; and in the course of another quarter of an
hour I found myself safely landed in the great city of the Antipodes.
[Illustration: (View of Melbourne, Victoria)]
CHAPTER VII.
MELBOURNE.
FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF MELBOURNE--SURVEY OF THE CITY--THE
STREETS--COLLINS STREET--THE TRAFFIC--NEWNESS AND YOUNGNESS OF
MELBOURNE--ABSENCE OF BEGGARS--MELBOURNE AN ENGLISH CITY--THE CHINESE
QUARTER--THE PUBLIC LIBRARY--PENTRIDGE PRISON--THE YARRA RIVER--ST.
KILDA--SOCIAL EXPERIENCES IN MELBOURNE--A MARRIAGE BALL--MELBOURNE
LADIES--VISIT TO A SERIOUS FAMILY.
I arrive in Melbourne towards evening, and on stepping out of the
railway-train find myself amidst a glare of gas lamps. Outside the
station the streets are all lit up, the shops are brilliant with
light, and well-dressed people are moving briskly about.
What is this large building in Bourke Street, with the crowd standing
about? It is the Royal Theatre. A large stone-faced hall inside the
portico, surrounded by bars brilliantly lit, is filled with young men
in groups lounging about, talking and laughing. At the further end of
the vestibule are the entrances to the different parts of the house.
Further up the same street, I come upon a large market-place, in a
blaze of light, where crowds of people are moving about, buying
vegetables, fruit, meat, and such like. At the further end of the
street the din and bustle are less, and I see a large structure
standing in an open space, looking black against the starlit sky. I
afterwards find that it is the Parliament House.
Such is my first introduction to Melbourne. It is evidently a place
stirring with life. After strolling through some of the larger
streets, and everywhere observing the same indications of wealth, and
traffic, and population, I took the train for Sandridge, and slept a
good sound sleep in my bunk on board the 'Yorkshire' for the last
time.
Next morning I returned to Melbourne in the broad daylight, when I was
able to make a more deliberate survey of the city. I was struck by the
width and regularity of some of the larger streets, and by the
admirable manner in which they are paved and kept. The whole town
seems to have been laid out on a systematic plan, which some might
think even too regular and uniform. But the undulating nature of the
ground on which the city is built serves to correct this defect, if
defect it be.
The streets are mostly laid out at right angles; broad streets one
way, and alternate broad and narrow streets crossing them. Collins and
Bourke Streets are, perhaps, the finest. The view from the high
ground, at one end of Collins Street, looking down the hollow of the
road, and right away up the hill on the other side, is very striking.
This grand street, of great width, is probably not less than a mile
long. On either side are the principal bank buildings, tall and
handsome. Just a little way up the hill, on the further side, is a
magnificent white palace-like structure, with a richly ornamented
facade and tower. That is the New Town Hall. Higher up is a fine
church spire, and beyond it a red brick tower, pricked out with
yellow, standing in bold relief against the clear blue sky. You can
just see Bourke and Wills' monument there, in the centre of the
roadway. And at the very end of the perspective, the handsome grey
front of the Treasury bounds the view.
Amongst the peculiarities of the Melbourne streets are the deep, broad
stone gutters, on either side of the roadway, evidently intended for
the passage of a very large quantity of water in the rainy season.
They are so broad as to render it necessary to throw little wooden
bridges over them at the street-crossings. I was told that these open
gutters are considered by no means promotive of the health of the
inhabitants, which one can readily believe; and it is probable that
before long they will be covered up.
Walk over Collins and Bourke Street at nine or ten in the morning, and
you meet the business men of Melbourne on their way from the
railway-station to their offices in town: for the greater number of
them, as in London, live in the suburbs. The shops are all open,
everything looking bright and clean. Pass along the same streets in
the afternoon, and you will find gaily-dressed ladies flocking the
pathways. The shops are bustling with customers. There are many
private carriages to be seen, with two-wheeled cars, on which the
passengers sit back to back, these (with the omnibuses) being the
public conveyances of Melbourne. Collins Street may be regarded as the
favourite promenade; more particularly between three and four in the
afternoon, when shopping is merely the excuse of its numerous
fashionable frequenters.
One thing struck me especially--the very few old or grey-haired people
one meets with in the streets of Melbourne. They are mostly young
people; and there are comparatively few who have got beyond the middle
stage of life. And no wonder. For how young a city Melbourne is! Forty
years since there was not a house in the place.
Where the Melbourne University now stands, a few miserable Australian
blacks would meet and hold a corroboree; but, except it might be a
refugee bush-ranger from Sydney, there was not a white man in all
Victoria. The first settler, John Batman,[3] arrived in the harbour
of Port Phillip as recently as the year 1835, since which time the
colony has been planted, the city of Melbourne has been built, and
Victoria covered with farms, mines, towns, and people. When Sir Thomas
Mitchell first visited the colony in 1836, though comprehending an
area of more than a hundred thousand square miles, it did not contain
200 white people. In 1845 the population had grown to 32,000;
Melbourne had been founded, and was beginning to grow rapidly; now it
contains a population of about 200,000 souls, and is already the
greatest city in the Southern Hemisphere.
No wonder, therefore, that the population of Melbourne should be
young. It consists for the most part of immigrants from Great Britain
and other countries,--of men and women in the prime of life,--pushing,
enterprising, energetic people. Nor is the stream of immigration
likely to stop soon. The land in the interior is not one-tenth part
occupied; and "the cry is, still they come." Indeed many think the
immigrants do not come quickly enough. Every ship brings a fresh
batch; and the "new chums" may be readily known, as they assemble in
knots at the corners of the streets, by their ruddy colour, their
gaping curiosity, and their home looks.
Another thing that strikes me in Melbourne is this,--that I have not
seen a beggar in the place. There is work for everybody who will work;
so there is no excuse for begging. A great many young fellows who come
out here no doubt do not meet with the fortune they think they
deserve. They expected that a few good letters of introduction were
all that was necessary to enable them to succeed. But they are soon
undeceived. They must strip to work, if they would do any good. Mere
clerks, who can write and add up figures, are of no use; the colony is
over-stocked with them. But if they are handy, ready to work, and
willing to turn their hand to anything, they need never be without the
means of honest living.
In many respects Melbourne is very like home. It looks like a slice of
England transplanted here, only everything looks fresher and newer. Go
into Fitzroy or Carlton Gardens in the morning, and you will see
almost the self-same nurses and children that you saw in the Parks in
London. At dusk you see the same sort of courting couples mooning
about, not knowing what next to say. In the streets you see a corps of
rifle volunteers marching along, just as at home, on Saturday
afternoons. Down at Sandridge you see the cheap-trip steamer, decked
with flags, taking a boat-load of excursionists down the bay to some
Australian Margate or Ramsgate. On the wooden pier the same
steam-cranes are at work, loading and unloading trucks.
One thing, however, there is at Melbourne that you cannot see in any
town in England, and that is the Chinese quarter. There the streets
are narrower and dirtier than anywhere else, and you see the
yellow-faced folks stand jabbering at their doors--a very novel sight.
The Chinamen, notwithstanding the poll-tax originally imposed on them
of 10_l._ a head, have come into Victoria in large and increasing
numbers, and before long they threaten to become a great power in the
colony. They are a very hardworking, but, it must be confessed, a very
low class, dirty people.
Though many of the Chinamen give up their native dress and adopt the
European costume, more particularly the billycock hat, there is one
part of their belongings that they do not part with even in the last
extremity--and that is their tail. They may hide it away in their
billycock or in the collar of their coat; but, depend upon it, the
tail is there. My friend, the doctor of the 'Yorkshire,' being a
hunter after natural curiosities, had, amongst other things, a great
ambition to possess himself of a Chinaman's tail. One day, walking up
Collins Street, I met my enthusiastic friend. He recognised me, and
waved something about frantically that he had in his hand. "I've got
it! I've got it!" he exclaimed, in a highly excited manner. "What have
you got?" I asked, wondering. "Come in here," said he, "and I'll show
it you." We turned into a bar, when he carefully undid his parcel, and
exposed to view a long black thing. "What _is_ it?" I asked. "A
Chinaman's pigtail, of course," said he, triumphantly; "and a very
rare curiosity it is, I can assure you."
Among the public institutes of Melbourne one of the finest is the
Public Library, already containing, I was told, about 80,000 volumes.
It is really a Library for the People, and a noble one too. So far as
I can learn, there is nothing yet in England that can be compared
with it.[4] Working men come here, and read at their leisure
scientific books, historical books, or whatever they may desire. They
may come in their working dress, signing their names on entering, the
only condition required of them being quietness and good behaviour.
About five hundred readers use the library daily.
Nor must I forget the Victorian collection of pictures, in the same
building as the Public Library. The galleries are good, and contain
many attractive paintings. Amongst them I noticed Goodall's 'Rachel at
the Well,' Cope's 'Pilgrim Fathers' (a replica), and some excellent
specimens of Chevalier, a rising colonial artist.
The Post Office is another splendid building, one of the most
commodious institutions of the kind in the world. There the arrival of
each mail from England is announced by the hoisting of a large red
flag, with the letter A (arrival).
In evidence of the advanced "civilization" of Melbourne, let me also
describe a visit which I paid to its gaol. But it is more than a gaol,
for it is the great penal establishment of the colony. The prison at
Pentridge is about eight miles from Melbourne. Accompanied by a
friend, I was driven thither in a covered car along a very dusty but
well-kept road. Alighting at the castle-like entrance to the
principal courtyard, we passed through a small doorway, behind which
was a strong iron-bar gate, always kept locked, and watched by a
warder. The gate was unlocked, and we shortly found ourselves in the
great prison area, in the presence of sundry men in grey prison
uniform, with heavy irons on. Passing across the large clean yard, we
make for a gate in the high granite wall at its further side. A key is
let down to us by the warder, who is keeping armed watch in his
sentry-box on the top of the wall. We use it, let ourselves in, lock
the door, and the key is hauled up again.
We enter the female prison, where we are shown the cells, each with
its small table and neatly-folded mattress. On the table is a Bible
and Prayer-book, and sometimes a third book for amusement or
instruction. In some of the cells, where the inmates are learning to
read and write, there is a spelling primer and a copybook for
pothooks. The female prisoners are not in their cells, but we shortly
after find them assembled in a large room above, seated and at work.
They all rose at our entrance, and I had a good look at their faces.
There was not a single decent honest face amongst them. They were
mostly heavy, square-jawed, hard-looking women. Judging by their
faces, vice and ugliness would seem to be pretty nearly akin.
We were next taken to the centre of the prison, from which we looked
down upon the narrow, high-walled yards, in which the prisoners
condemned to solitary confinement take their exercise. These yards
all radiate from a small tower, in which a warder is stationed,
carefully watching the proceedings below.
We shortly saw the prisoners of Department A coming in from their
exercise in the yard. Each wore a white mask on his face with eyeholes
in it; and no prisoner must approach another nearer than five yards,
at risk of severe punishment. The procession was a very dismal one. In
the half-light of the prison they marched silently on one by one, with
their faces hidden, each touching his cap as he passed.
Department B came next. The men here do not work in their separate
cells, like the others, but go out to work in gangs, guarded by armed
warders. The door of each cell throughout the prison has a small hole
in it, through which the warders, who move about the galleries in list
shoes, can peep in, and, unknown to the prisoner, see what he is
about.
Both male and female prisons have Black Holes attached to them for the
solitary confinement of the refractory. Dreadful places they look:
small cells about ten feet by four, into which not a particle of light
is admitted. Three thick doors, one within another, render it
impossible for the prisoner inside to make himself heard without.
Next comes Department C, in which the men finish their time. Here many
sleep in one room, always under strict watch, being employed during
the day at their respective trades, or going out in gangs to work in
the fields connected with the establishment. Connected with this
department is a considerable factory, with spinning-machines,
weaving-frames, and dye vats; the whole of the clothes and blankets
used in the gaol being made by the prisoners, as well as the blankets
supplied by the Government to the natives. Adjoining are blacksmiths'
shops, where manacles are forged; shoemakers' shops; tailors' shops; a
bookbinder's shop, where the gaol books are bound; and shops for
various other crafts.
The prison library is very well furnished with books. Dickens's and
Trollope's works are there, and I saw a well-read copy of 'Self-Help,'
though it was doubtless through a very different sort of self-help
that most of the prisoners who perused it had got there.
Last of all, we saw the men searched on coming in from their work in
the fields, or in the different workshops. They all stood in a line
while the warder passed his hands down their bodies and legs, and
looked into their hats. Then he turned to a basin of water standing
by, and carefully washed his hands.
There were about 700 prisoners of both sexes in the gaol when we
visited it. I was told that the walls of the prison enclose an area of
132 acres, so that there is abundance of space for all kinds of work.
On the whole it was a very interesting, but at the same time a sad
sight.
I think very little of the River Yarra Yarra, on which Melbourne is
situated. It is a muddy, grey-coloured stream, very unpicturesque. It
has, however, one great advantage over most other Australian rivers,
as indicated by its name, which in the native language means the
"ever-flowing;" many of the creeks and rivers in Australia being dry
in summer. I hired a boat for the purpose of a row up the Yarra. A
little above the city its banks are pretty and ornamental, especially
where it passes the Botanic Gardens, which are beautifully laid out,
and well stocked with India-rubber plants, gum-trees, and magnificent
specimens of the Southern fauna. Higher up, the river--though its
banks continue green--becomes more monotonous, and we soon dropped
back to Melbourne with the stream.
It is the seaside of Melbourne that is by far the most
interesting,--Williamstown, with its shipping; but more especially the
pretty suburbs, rapidly growing into towns, along the shores of the
Bay of Port Phillip--such as St. Kilda, Elsternwick, Brighton, and
Cheltenham. You see how they preserve the old country names. St. Kilda
is the nearest to Melbourne, being only about three miles distant by
rail, and it is the favourite resort of the Melbourne people. Indeed,
many of the first-class business men reside there, just as Londoners
do at Blackheath and Forest Hill. The esplanade along the beach is a
fine promenade, and the bathing along shore is exceedingly good. There
are large enclosures for bathers, surrounded by wooden piles; above
the enclosure, raised high on platforms, are commodious
dressing-rooms, where, instead of being cooped up in an uncomfortable
bathing-machine, you may have a lounge outside in the bright sunshine
while you dress. The water is a clear blue, and there is a sandy
bottom sloping down from the shore into any depth,--a glorious
opportunity for swimmers!
I must now tell you something of my social experiences in Melbourne.
Thanks to friends at home, I had been plentifully supplied with
letters of introduction to people in the colony. When I spoke of these
to old colonials in the 'Yorkshire,' I was told that they were "no
good"--no better than so many "tickets for soup," if worth even that.
I was, therefore, quite prepared for a cool reception; but,
nevertheless, took the opportunity of delivering my letters shortly
after landing.
So far from being received with coldness, I was received with the
greatest kindness wherever I went. People who had never seen me
before, and who knew nothing of me or my family, gave me a welcome
that was genuine, frank, and hearty in the extreme. My letters, I
found, were far more than "tickets for soup." They introduced me to
pleasant companions and kind friends, who entertained me hospitably,
enabled me to pass my time pleasantly, and gave me much practical good
advice. Indeed, so far as my experience goes, the hospitality of
Victoria ought to become proverbial.
One of the first visits I made was to a recent school-fellow of mine
at Geneva. I found him at work in a bank, and astonished him very much
by the suddenness of my appearance. He was most kind to me during my
stay in Melbourne, as well as all his family, to whom I owed a
succession of kindnesses which I can never forget.
I shall always retain a pleasant recollection of a marriage festivity
to which I was invited within a week after my arrival. A ball was
given in the evening, at which about 300 persons were present--the
_elite_ of Melbourne society. It was held in a large marquee, with a
splendid floor, and ample space for dancing. Everything was ordered
very much the same as at home. The dresses of the ladies seemed more
costly, the music was probably not so good, though very fair, and the
supper rather better. I fancy there was no "contract champagne" at
that ball.
One thing I must remark about the ladies--they seemed to me somehow a
little different in appearance. Indeed, when I first landed, I fancied
I saw a slightly worn look, a want of freshness, in the people
generally. They told me there that it is the effect of the dry
Australian climate and the long summer heat, native-born Australians
having a tendency to grow thin and lathy. Not that there was any want
of beauty about the Melbourne girls, or that they were not up to the
mark in personal appearance. On the contrary, there was quite a bevy
of belles, some of them extremely pretty girls, most tastefully
dressed, and I thought the twelve bridesmaids, in white silk trimmed
with blue, looked charming.
I spent a very pleasant evening with this gay company, and had my fill
of dancing after my long privation at sea. When I began to step out,
the room seemed to be in motion. I had got so accustomed to the roll
of the ship that I still felt unsteady, and when I put my foot down it
went further than I expected before it touched the floor. But I soon
got quit of my sea legs, which I had so much difficulty in finding.
Before concluding my few Melbourne experiences, I will mention another
of a very different character from the above. I was invited to spend
the following Saturday and Sunday with a gentleman and his family. I
was punctual to my appointment, and was driven by my carman up to the
door of a new house in a very pretty situation. I was shown into the
drawing-room, where I waited some time for the mistress of the house
to make her appearance. She was a matronly person, with a bland smile
on her countenance. Her dress was of a uniform grey, with trimmings of
the same colour. We tried conversation, but somehow it failed. I fear
my remarks were more meaningless than usual on such occasions.
Certainly the lady and I did not hit it at all. She asked me if I had
heard such and such a Scotch minister, or had read somebody's sermons
which she named? Alas! I had not so much as heard of their names.
Judging by her looks, she must have thought me an ignoramus. For a
mortal hour we sat together, almost in silence, her eyes occasionally
directed full upon me. We were for the moment relieved by the entrance
of a young lady, one of the daughters of the house, who was introduced
to me. But, alas! we got on no better than before. The young lady sat
with downcast eyes, intent upon her knitting, though I saw that her
eyes were black, and that she was pretty.
Then the master of the house came home, and we had dinner in a quiet,
sober fashion. In the evening the lady and I made a few further
efforts at conversation. I was looking at the books on the
drawing-room table, when she all at once brightened up, and
asked--"Have you ever heard of Robbie Burns?" I answered (I fear
rather chaffingly) that "I had once heard there was such a person."
"Have you, tho'?" said the lady, relapsing into crochet. The gentleman
went off to sleep, and the young lady continued absorbed in her
knitting. A little later in the evening the hostess made a further
effort. "Have you ever tasted whisky toddy?" To which I answered,
"Yes, once or twice," at which she seemed astonished. But the whisky
toddy, which might have put a little spirit into the evening, did not
make its appearance. The subject of the recent marriage festivity
having come up, the lady was amazed to find I had been there, and that
I was fond of dancing! I fear this sent me down a great many more pegs
in her estimation. In fact, my evening was a total failure, and I was
glad to get to bed--though it was an immense expanse of bed, big
enough for a dozen people.
To make a long story short, next morning I went with the family to
"the kirk," heard an awfully long sermon, during which I nipped my
fingers to keep myself awake; and as soon as I could I made my escape
back to my lodgings, very well pleased to get away, but feeling that I
must have left a very unfavourable impression upon the minds of my
worthy entertainers.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 3: Mr. Batman died in September, 1869, at the age of 77, and
his funeral was one of the largest ever seen in Melbourne. This
"father of Melbourne" kept the first store, and published the first
newspaper in the settlement.]
[Footnote 4: The public library was inaugurated under Mr. La Trobe's
Government in 1853, when 4,000_l._ was voted for books and an edifice.
The sum was doubled in the following year, and greatly increased in
succeeding years. In 1863, 40,000_l._ of public money had been
expended on the building, and 30,000_l._ on the library.]
CHAPTER VIII.
UP COUNTRY.
OBTAIN A SITUATION IN AN UP-COUNTRY BANK--JOURNEY BY
RAIL--CASTLEMAINE--FURTHER JOURNEY BY COACH--MARYBOROUGH--FIRST SIGHT
OF THE BUSH--THE BUSH TRACKS--EVENING PROSPECT OVER THE
COUNTRY--ARRIVAL AT MY DESTINATION.
I had now been in Melbourne some weeks, and the question arose--What
next? I found the living rather expensive, and that it was making a
steady drain upon my funds. I had the option of a passage home, or of
staying in the colony if I could find some employment wherewith to
occupy myself profitably in the meanwhile. But I could not remain much
longer idle, merely going about visiting and enjoying myself.
I took an opportunity of consulting the eminent physician, Dr.
Halford, who pronounced my lungs sound, but recommended me, because of
the sudden changes of temperature to which Melbourne is liable, either
to return home immediately, in order to establish the benefit I had
derived from the voyage, or, if I remained, to proceed up country,
north of the Dividing Range, where the temperature is more equable.
I accordingly determined to make the attempt to obtain some settled
employment in the colony that might enable me to remain in it a
little longer. I found that there were many fellows, older and more
experienced than myself, who had been knocking about Melbourne for
some time, unable to find berths. It is quite natural that the young
men of the colony, desirous of entering merchants' houses, banks, or
insurance offices, should have the preference over new comers; and
hence those young men who come here, expecting to drop into clerk's
offices, soon find themselves _de trop_, and that they are a drug in
the market.
The prospect of obtaining such employment in my own case did not,
therefore, look very bright; yet I could but try and fail, as others
had done. In the last event there was the passage home, of which I
could avail myself. Well, I tried, and tried again, and at last
succeeded, thanks to the friendly gentlemen in Melbourne who so kindly
interested themselves in my behalf. In my case luck must have helped
me: for I am sure I did not owe my success to any special knowledge.
But happy I was when, after a great deal of running about, it was at
length communicated to me that there was a vacancy in an up-country
branch of one of the principal colonial banking companies, which was
open to my acceptance.
[Illustration: MAP OF THE GOLD-MINING DISTRICT, VICTORIA.]
I took the position at once, and made my arrangements for starting to
enter upon the duties of the office forthwith. I of course knew
nothing of the country in which the branch bank was situated,
excepting that it was in what is called a digging township--that is,
a township in which digging for gold is the principal branch of
industry. When I told my companions what occupation I had before me,
and where I was going, they tried to frighten me. They pictured to me
a remote place, with a few huts standing on a gravelly hill,
surrounded by holes and pools of mud. "A wretched life you will lead
up there," they said; "depend upon it, you will never be able to bear
it, and we shall see you back in Melbourne within a month, disgusted
with up-country life." "Well, we shall see," I said: "I am resolved to
give it a fair trial, and in the worst event I can go home by the next
Money Wigram."
After the lapse of two days from the date of my appointment, I was at
the Spencer Street Station of the Victoria Railway, and booked for
Castlemaine, a station about eighty miles from Melbourne. Two of my
fellow-passengers by the 'Yorkshire' were there to see me off, wishing
me all manner of kind things. Another parting, and I was off
up-country. What would it be like? What sort of people were they
amongst whom I was to live? What were to be my next experiences?
We sped rapidly over the flat, lowly-undulating, and comparatively
monotonous country north of Melbourne, until we reached the Dividing
Range, a mountainous chain, covered with dark-green scrub, separating
Bourke from Dalhousie County, where the scenery became more varied and
interesting.
In the railway-carriage with me was a boy of about twelve or
fourteen, who at once detected in me a "new chum," as recent arrivals
in the colony are called. We entered into conversation, when I found
he was going to Castlemaine, where he lived. He described it as a
large up-country town, second only to Ballarat and Melbourne. But I
was soon about to see the place with my own eyes, for we were already
approaching it; and before long I was set down at the Castlemaine
Station, from whence I was to proceed to my destination by coach.
The town of Castlemaine by no means came up to the description of my
travelling companion. Perhaps I had expected too much, and was
disappointed. The place is built on the site of what was once a very
great rush, called Forest Creek. Gold was found in considerable
abundance, and attracted a vast population into the neighbourhood. But
other and richer fields having been discovered, the rush went
elsewhere, leaving behind it the deposit of houses now known as
Castlemaine.[5] It contains but few streets, and those not very good
ones. The houses are mostly small and low; the greater number are only
one-storied erections. Everything was quiet, with very little traffic
going on, and the streets had a most dead-alive look.
The outskirts of the town presented a novel appearance. Small heaps of
gravelly soil, of a light-red colour, lying close to each other,
covered the ground in all directions, almost as far as the eye could
reach. The whole country seemed to have been turned over, dug about,
and abandoned; though I still observed here and there pools of red
muddy water, and a few men digging, searching for gold amongst the old
workings.
I put up at one of the hotels, to wait there until the coach started
at midnight. The place was very dull, the streets were very dull, and
everybody seemed to have gone to bed. At length the hours passed, and
the coach drew up. It was an odd-looking vehicle, drawn by four
horses. The body was simply hung on by straps, innocent of springs.
There were no windows to the carriage, but only leather aprons in
their place. This looked rather like rough travelling.
Away we went at last, at a good pace, over a tolerably good road.
Soon, however, we began to jolt and pitch about, the carriage rolling
and rocking from side to side. There was only one passenger besides
myself, a solitary female, who sat opposite to me. I held on tight to
the woodwork of the coach, but, notwithstanding all my efforts, I got
pitched into the lady's lap more than once. She seemed to take it all
very coolly, however, as if it were a mere matter of course.
After changing horses twice, and after a good deal more jolting, the
road became better and smoother; and then I observed, from the signs
outside, that we were approaching a considerable place. I was told
that it was Maryborough, and shortly after the coach pulled up at the
door of an hotel and I alighted. It was now between four and five in
the morning, so I turned into bed and had a sound sleep.
I was wakened up by a young gentleman, who introduced himself to me as
one of my future "camarades" in the bank, to whom my arrival had been
telegraphed. After making a good breakfast I stepped on to the
verandah in front of the hotel, and the high street of Maryborough lay
before me. It seemed a nice, tidy town. The streets were white and
clean; the shops, now open, were some of brick, and others of wood.
The hotel in which I had slept was a two-storied brick building. Two
banks were in the main street, one of them a good building. Everything
looked spic-and-span new, very unlike our old-fashioned English
country towns.
The township to which I was destined being distant about six miles
from Maryborough, I was driven thither in the evening,--full of
wonderment and curiosity as to the place to which I was bound. As we
got outside Maryborough into the open country, its appearance struck
me very much. It was the first time I had been amongst the gum-trees,
which grow so freely in all the southern parts of Australia.
For a short distance out of the town the road was a made one, passing
through some old workings, shown by the big holes and heaps of gravel
that lay about. Further on, it became a mere hardened track, through
amongst trees and bushes, each driver choosing his own track. As soon
as one becomes the worse for wear, and the ruts in it are worn too
deep, a new one is selected. Some of these old ruts have a very ugly
look. Occasionally we pass a cottage with a garden, but no village is
in sight. The brown trees have a forlorn look; the pointed leaves seem
hardly to cover them. The bushes, too, that grow by the road-side,
seem straggling and scraggy: but, then, I must remember that it is
winter-time in Australia.
At length we reach the top of a hill, from which there is a fine view
of the country beyond. I have a vivid recollection of my first glimpse
of a landscape which afterwards became so familiar to me. The dark
green trees stretched down into the valley and clothed the undulating
ground which lay toward the right. Then, on the greener and
flatter-looking country in front, there seemed to extend a sort of
whitish line--something that I could not quite make out. At first I
thought it must be a town in the distance, with its large white
houses. In the blue of the evening I could not then discern that what
I took to be houses were simply heaps of pipeclay. Further off, and
beyond all, was a background of brown hills, fading away in the
distance. Though it was winter time, the air was bright and clear, and
the blue sky was speckled with fleecy clouds.
But we soon lose sight of the distant scene, as we rattle along
through the dust down-hill. We reach another piece of made road,
indicating our approach to a town; and very shortly we arrive at a
small township close by a creek. We pass a shed, in which stampers are
at work, driven by steam,--it is a quartz-mill; then a blacksmith's
shop; then an hotel, and other houses. I supposed this was to be my
location; but, no! The driver turns sharp off the high road down
towards the creek. It is a narrow stream of dirty-coloured water,
trickling along between two high banks. We drive down the steep on one
side and up the other with a tremendous pull, the buggy leaning
heavily to one side. On again, over a crab-holey plain, taking care to
avoid the stumps of trees and bad ground. Now we are in amongst the
piles of dirt which mark abandoned diggings.
Another short bit of made road, and we are in the township. It is
still sufficiently light to enable me to read "Council Chambers" over
the door of a white-painted, shed-like, wooden erection of one story.
Then up the street, past the shops with their large canvas signs,
until at length we pull up alongside a wooden one-storied house,
roofed with iron, and a large wooden verandah projecting over the
pathway in front. The signboard over the door tells me this is the
Bank. I have reached my destination, and am safely landed in the town
of Majorca.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 5: Before railways were introduced, the town was a great
depot for goods going up-country to the different diggings.]
CHAPTER IX.
MAJORCA.
MAJORCA FOUNDED IN A RUSH--DESCRIPTION OF A RUSH--DIGGERS CAMPING
OUT--GOLD-MINING AT MAJORCA--MAJORCA HIGH STREET--THE PEOPLE--THE
INNS--THE CHURCHES--THE BANK--THE CHINAMEN--AUSTRALIA THE PARADISE OF
WORKING MEN--"SHOUTING" FOR DRINKS--ABSENCE OF BEGGARS--NO COPPERS UP
COUNTRY.
In my school-days Majorca was associated in my mind with "Minorca and
Ivica," and I little thought to encounter a place of that name in
Australia. It seems that the town was originally so called because of
its vicinity to a rocky point called Gibraltar, where gold had been
found some time before. Like many other towns up country, the founding
of Majorca was the result of a rush.
In the early days of gold-digging, when men were flocking into the
colony to hunt for treasure, so soon as the news got abroad of a great
nugget being found by some lucky adventurers, or of some rich
gold-bearing strata being struck, there was a sudden rush from all
quarters to the favoured spot. Such a rush occurred at Majorca in the
year 1863.
Let me try to describe the scene in those early days of the township,
as it has been related to me by those who witnessed it. Fancy from
fourteen to fifteen thousand diggers suddenly drawn together in one
locality, and camped out in the bush within a radius of a mile and a
half.
A great rush is a scene of much bustle and excitement. Long lines of
white tents overtop the heaps of pipeclay, which grow higher from day
to day. The men are hard at work on these hills of "mullock," plying
the windlasses by which the stuff is brought up from below, or
puddling and washing off "the dirt." Up come the buckets from the
shafts, down which the diggers are working, and the dirty yellow water
is poured down-hill to find its way to the creek as it best may.
Unmade roads, or rather tracks, run in and out amongst the claims,
knee-deep in mud; the ground being kept in a state of constant
sloppiness by the perpetual washing for the gold. Perhaps there is a
fight going on over the boundary-pegs of a claim which have been
squashed by a heavy dray passing along, laden with stores from
Castlemaine.
The miners are attended by all manner of straggling followers, like
the sutlers following a camp. The life is a very rough one: hard work
and hard beds, heavy eating and heavy drinking. The diggers mostly
live in tents, for they are at first too much engrossed by their
search for gold to run up huts; but many of them sleep in the open air
or under the shelter of the trees. A pilot-coat or a pea-jacket is
protection enough for those who do not enjoy the luxury of a tent; but
the dryness and geniality of the climate are such that injury is very
rarely experienced from the night exposure. There are very few women
at the first opening of new diggings, the life is too rough and rude;
and some of those who do come, rock the cradle--but not the household
one--with the men. The diggers, however genteel the life they may have
led before, soon acquire a dirty, rough, unshaven look. Their coarse
clothes are all of a colour, being that of the clay and gravel in
which they work, and the mud with which they become covered when
digging.
There is a crowd of men at an open bar drinking. Bar, indeed! It is
but a plank supported on two barrels; and across this improvised
counter the brandy bottle and glasses are eagerly plied. A couple of
old boxes in front serve for seats, while a piece of canvas, rigged on
two poles, shades off the fierce sun. Many a large fortune has been
made at a rude bar of this sort. For too many of the diggers, though
they work like horses, spend like asses. Here, again, in the long main
street of tents, where the shafts are often uncomfortably close to the
road, the tradesmen are doing a roaring business. Stalwart men, with
stout appetites, are laying in their stores of grocery, buying pounds
of flour, sugar, and butter--meat and bread in great quantities. The
digger thrusts his parcels indiscriminately into the breast of his
dirty jumper, a thick shirt; and away he goes, stuffed with groceries,
and perhaps a leg of mutton over his shoulder. In the evening some
four thousand camp fires in the valleys, along the gullies, and up the
sides of the hills, cast a lurid light over a scene, which, once
witnessed, can never be forgotten.
There were, of course, the usual rowdies at Majorca as at other
rushes. But very soon a rough discipline was set up and held them in
check; then a local government was formed; and eventually order was
established. Although the neighbouring towns look down on "little
Majorca"--say it is the last place made--and tell of the riotous
doings at its first settlement, Majorca is quoted by Brough Smyth,
whose book on the gold-fields is the best authority on the subject, as
having been a comparatively orderly place, even in the earliest days
of the rush. He says, "Shortly after the workings were opened, it
presented a scene of busy industry, where there was more of order,
decency, and good behaviour than could probably be found in any mining
locality in England, or on the Continent of Europe."[6]
The contrast, however, must be very great between the Majorca of
to-day and the Majorca of seven years since, when it was a great
gold-diggers' camp. It had its first burst, like all other celebrated
places in the gold-fields. As the shallower and richer ground became
worked out, the diggers moved off to some new diggings, and the first
glories of the Majorca rush gradually passed away. Still, the place
continued prosperous. The mining was carried down into deeper strata.
But after a few years, the yield fell off, and the engines were
gradually withdrawn. Some few claims are doing well in new offshoots
of the lead, and the miners are vigorously following it up. Two engine
companies are pushing ahead and hoping for better things. Over at the
other side of the creek, in amongst the ranges, there is still plenty
of fair yielding quartz, which is being got out of mother earth; and
the miners consider that they have very fair prospects before them.[7]
Indeed, Majorca has subsided into a comparatively quiet country place,
containing about 800 inhabitants. It is supported in a great measure
by the adjoining farming population. And I observed, during my stay at
the place, that the more prudent of the miners, when they had saved a
few hundred pounds--and some saved much more--usually retired from
active digging, and took to farming. The town consists, for the most
part, of one long street, situated on a rising ground. There are not
many buildings of importance in it. The houses are mostly of wood,
one-storied, and roofed with corrugated iron. There is only one brick
shop-front in the street, which so over-tops the others, that
malicious, perhaps envious, neighbours say it is sure to topple down
some day on to the footway. The shops are of the usual description,
grocers, bakers, butchers, and drapers; and the most frequent style of
shop is a store, containing everything from a pickaxe and tin dish
(for gold washing) to Perry Davis's patent Pain-killer. We have of
course our inns--the Imperial, where the manager of the bank and
myself lived; the Harp of Erin, the Irish rendezvous, as its name
imports, even its bar-room being papered with green; the German Hotel,
where the Verein is held, and over which the German tri-coloured flag
floats on fete-days; and there is also a Swiss restaurant, the
Guillaume Tell, with the Swiss flag and cap of liberty painted on its
white front.
I must also mention the churches, standing off the main street, which
are the most prominent buildings in Majorca. The largest is the
Wesleyan Chapel, a substantial brick building, near which still stands
the old wooden shanty first erected and used in the time of the rush.
Then there is the Church of England, a neat though plain edifice, well
fitted and arranged. The Presbyterians worship in a battered-looking
wooden erection; and the Roman Catholics have a shed-like place, which
in week days is used as a school.
Our inns and our churches will give you some idea of the population of
Majorca. I should say the most of it--the substance--is English. The
Irish are hard workers, but generally spendthrifts, though there are
some excellent exceptions. The Irish hold together in religion,
politics, and drink. The Scotch are not so numerous as the Irish, but
somehow they have a knack of getting on. They are not clannish like
the Irish. Each hangs by his own hook. Then there are the Germans, who
are pretty numerous, a very respectable body of men, with a sprinkling
of Italians and Swiss. The Germans keep up their old country fashions,
hold their Verein, meet and make speeches, sing songs, smoke pipes,
and drink thin wine. Lager-beer has not reached them yet.
The building in Majorca in which I am, of course, most of all
interested, is that in which I officiate as "Accountant," the only
other officer in the bank being the "Manager." You will thus observe
that there are only officers in our establishment--all rank and no
file. Let me give you an idea of our building. Its walls are wooden,
with canvas inside, and its roof is of corrugated iron. The office
fronts the main street, and is fitted with a plain counter facing the
door, at one end of which are the gold-weighing scales, and at the
other the ledger-desk. Two rooms are attached to the office, in which
we sleep,--one behind, the other at the side. There is a pretty
little garden in the rear, a verandah covered with a thickly growing
Australian creeper (the Dolichos), sheltering us as we sit out there
occasionally, enjoying the quiet cool of the evenings, reading or
talking.
You will thus observe that our establishment is by no means of a
stately order.[8] Indeed the place is not weather-proof. When the wind
blows, the canvas inside the boards flaps about, and, in my queer
little sleeping-room, when the rain falls it runs down the sides of
the canvas walls, and leaves large stains upon the gay paper. But I
contrived to make the little place look tolerably comfortable; hung it
round with photographs reminding me of relations and friends at home,
and at length I came quite to enjoy my little retreat.
A look up and down the main street of Majorca is not particularly
lively at any time. Some of the shop-keepers are in front of their
stores, standing about under the verandahs which cover the pathway,
and lazily enjoying a pipe. At the upper end of the town the
blacksmith is busily at work shoeing some farmer's horses, in front of
the blazing smithy fire. Five or six diggers come slouching along,
just from their work, in their mud-bespattered trowsers and their
shirt sleeves, a pick or spade over their shoulders, and a tin "billy"
in their hands. But for the occasional rattle of a cart or buggy down
the street, the town would be lapped in quiet.
Here comes a John Chinaman with his big basket of vegetables. And let
me tell you that the Chinamen, who live in the neighbourhood of the
town, form no unimportant part of our community. But for them where
should we be for our cabbages, cauliflowers, and early potatoes? They
are the most indefatigable and successful of gardeners. Every morning
three or four of them are seen coming into the town from their large
gardens near the creek, each with a pole across his shoulders, and a
heavily laden basket hanging from each end. What tremendous loads they
contrive to carry in this way! Try to lift one of their baskets, and
you will find you can hardly raise it from the ground. Then you see
the "Johns" moving along from house to house, selling their stuffs. It
takes a very clever woman to get the better of one of the Chinamen in
a bargain. I found, by watching closely, that those got best off who
chose what they wanted out of the basket, paid what they thought a
fair price, and stuck to their purchase. John would at last agree, but
go away grumbling.
Of course there is not much in the way of what is called "society" at
this place. Like all the new towns in Australia, it consists for the
most part of a settlement of working people. Australia may, however,
be regarded as the paradise of working men, when they choose to avail
themselves of the advantages which it offers. Here there is always
plenty of profitable work for the industrious. Even Chinamen get
rich. The better sort of working families live far more comfortably
than our clerking or business young men do at home. The respectable
workman belongs to the Mechanics' Institute, where there is a very
good circulating library; he dresses well on Sundays, and goes to
church; hires a horse and takes a pleasure ride into the bush on
holidays; puts money in the bank, and when he has accumulated a fund,
builds a house for himself, or buys a lot of land and takes to
farming. Any steady working man can do all this here, and without any
difficulty.
Where the digger or mechanic does not thrive and save money, the fault
is entirely due to his own improvidence. Living is cheap. Clothes are
dear, but the workman does not need to wear expensive clothes; and
food is reasonable. Good mutton sells at 3_d._ a pound, and bread at
6_d._ the four pound loaf. Thanks to the Chinamen also, vegetables are
moderate in price. Every one may, therefore, save money if he has the
mind to do so. But many spendthrifts seem to feel it a sort of
necessity to throw away their money as soon as they have earned it. Of
course, the chief source of waste here, as at home, is drink. There is
constant "shouting" for drinks--that is, giving drinks all round to my
acquaintances who may be present. And as one shouts, so another
follows with his shout, and thus a great deal of drink is swallowed.
Yet, I must say that, though there may be more drinking here than in
England, there is much less drunkenness. I have very seldom seen a man
really drunk during my stay in Majorca. Perhaps the pure dry
atmosphere may have something to do with it. But often, also, when
there is a shout, the call of many may be only for lemonade, or some
simple beverage of that sort. It must also be stated, as a plea for
men resorting so much as they do to public-houses, that there are few
other places where they can meet and exchange talk with each other.
That everybody may thrive here who will, is evident from the utter
absence of beggars in Australia. I have not seen one regular
practitioner. An occasional "tramp" may be encountered hard up, and in
search of work. He may ask for assistance. He can have a glass of beer
at a bar, with a crust of bread, by asking for it. And he goes on his
way, most likely getting the employment of which he is in search at
the next township. The only beggars I ever encountered at Majorca are
genteel ones--the people who come round with lists, asking for
subscriptions in aid of bazaars for the building of churches and the
like. Nor did I find much of that horrid "tipping" which is such a
nuisance in England. You may "shout" a liquor if you choose, but
"tipping" would be considered an insult.
There is an almost entire absence of coppers up country; the lowest
change is a threepenny bit, and you cannot well spend anything under a
sixpence. I never had any copper in my pocket, except only a lucky
farthing. Many asked me for it, to keep as a curiosity, saying they
had never seen one since they left home. But I would not part with my
farthing.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 6: The following is from Mr. Brough Smyth's book:--
"I need only now speak of Majorca. Here a prospecting shaft
was bottomed in the beginning of March, 1863, in the middle
of a very extensive plain, known as M'Cullum's Creek Plain.
The depth of the shaft was 85 feet, through thick clay,
gravel, and cement. The wash-dirt was white gravel,
intermixed with heavy boulders, on a soft pipeclay bottom;
its thickness being from 2 to 3 feet. It averaged in some
places 3 oz. to the load. Finally, a rush set in, and before
three months had elapsed there were more than 15,000 miners
on the ground. The sinking became deeper as the work went
on, and was so wet that whims had to be erected; and at one
time, in 1865, over 170 might have been seen at work, both
night and day. Subsequently steam machinery was procured,
and now no less than ten engines, varying from 15- to
20-horse power, are constantly employed in pumping, winding,
and puddling. The lead in its lower part is 160 feet in
depth, and is evidently extending towards the Carisbrook,
Moolart, and Charlotte plains, where so much is expected by
all scientific men."--_Mr. E. O'Farrell, formerly Chairman
of the Mining Board of the Maryborough District.--Brough
Smyth_, pp. 98, 99.
]
[Footnote 7: Since my return home, letters from Majorca inform me that
things have recently taken a turn for the better. Several of the
alluvial mining companies are getting gold in increased quantities.
New shafts have been bottomed on rich ground, and the remittances of
gold are gradually on the increase.]
[Footnote 8: Since I left Majorca a neat and substantial brick
building has been erected for the purposes of the bank, in lieu of the
former wooden structure.]
CHAPTER X.
MY NEIGHBOURHOOD AND NEIGHBOURS.
"DINING OUT"--DIGGERS' SUNDAY DINNER--THE OLD WORKINGS--THE CHINAMEN'S
GARDENS--CHINAMEN'S DWELLINGS--THE CEMETERY--THE HIGH PLAINS--THE
BUSH--A RIDE THROUGH THE BUSH--THE SAVOYARD WOODCUTTER--VISIT TO A
SQUATTER.
There is no difficulty in making friends in Victoria. New chums from
home are always made welcome. They are invited out and hospitably
entertained by people of all classes. But for the many kind friends I
made in Majorca and its neighbourhood I should doubtless have spent a
very dull time there. As it was, the eighteen months I lived up
country passed pleasantly and happily.
The very first Sunday I spent in Majorca I "dined out." I had no
letters of introduction, and therefore did not owe my dinner to
influence, but to mere free-and-easy hospitality. Nor did the party
with which I dined belong to the first circles, where letters of
introduction are of any use; for they were only a party of diggers. I
will explain how it happened.
After church my manager invited me to a short walk in the
neighbourhood. We went in the direction of M'Cullum's Creek, about a
mile distant. This was the village at the creek which I passed on the
evening of my first drive from Maryborough. Crossing the creek, we
went up into the range of high ground beyond; and from the top of the
hill we had a fine view of the surrounding country. Majorca lay below,
glistening amidst its hillocks of pipeclay. The atmosphere was clear,
and the sky blue and cloudless. Though the town was two miles distant,
I could read some of the names on the large canvas sign-boards over
the hotel doors; and with the help of an opera-glass, I easily
distinguished the windows of a house six miles off. The day was fine
and warm, though it was mid-winter in June; for it must be borne in
mind that the seasons are reversed in this southern hemisphere.
Descending the farther side of the hill, we dropped into a gully,
where we shortly came upon a little collection of huts roofed with
shingle. The residents were outside, some amusing themselves with a
cricket-ball, while others were superintending the cooking of their
dinners at open fires outside the huts. One of the men having
recognized my companion, a conversation took place, which was followed
by an invitation to join them at dinner. As we were getting rather
peckish after our walk, we readily accepted their offered hospitality.
The mates took turn and turn about at the cooking, and when dinner was
pronounced to be ready, we went into the hut.
The place was partitioned off into two rooms, one of which was a
sleeping apartment, and the other the dining-room. It was papered with
a gay-coloured paper, and photographs of friends were stuck up
against the wall. We were asked to be seated. To accommodate the
strangers, an empty box and a billet of wood were introduced from the
outside. I could not say the table was laid, for it was guiltless of a
table-cloth; indeed all the appointments were rather rough. When we
were seated, one of the mates, who acted as waiter, brought in the
smoking dishes from the fire outside, and set them before us. The
dinner consisted of roast beef and cauliflower, and a capital dinner
it was, for our appetites were keen, and hunger is the best of sauces.
We were told that on Sundays the men usually had pudding; but "Bill,"
who was the cook that week, was pronounced to be "no hand at a plum
duff." We contrived, however, to do very well without it.
I afterwards found that the men were very steady fellows--three of
them English and one a German. They worked at an adjoining claim; and
often afterwards I saw them at our bank, selling their gold, or
depositing their savings.
After dinner we had a ramble through the bush with our hosts, and
then, towards dusk, we wended our way back to the township. Such was
my first experience of diggers' hospitality in Australia, and it was
by no means the last.
Another afternoon we made an excursion to the Chinamen's gardens,
which lie up the creek, under the rocky point of Gibraltar, about a
mile and a half distant from the township. We went through the
lead--that is, the course which the gold takes underground, and which
can be traced by the old workings. Where the gold lies from five to
seven feet beneath the surface, the whole ground is turned over to get
at it. But where the gold-bearing stratum lies from fifty to two
hundred feet deep, and shafts have to be sunk, the remains of the old
workings present a very different appearance. Then mounds of white
clay and gravel, from twenty to forty feet high, lie close
together--sometimes not more than fifteen feet apart. Climb up to the
top of one of these mounds, and you can see down the deserted shaft
which formerly led to the working ground below. Look round; see the
immense quantity of heaps, and the extent of ground they cover, almost
as far as the eye can reach up the lead, and imagine the busy scene
which the place must have presented in the earlier days of the rush,
when each of these shafts was fitted with its windlass, and each mound
was covered with toiling men. In one place a couple of engine-sheds
still remain, a gaunt erection supporting the water-tanks; the
poppet-heads towering above all, still fitted with the wheels that
helped to bring the gold to the surface. How deserted and desolate the
place looks! An abandoned rush must be as melancholy a sight to a
miner as a deserted city to a townsman. But all is not dead yet. Not
far off you can see jets of white steam coming up from behind the high
white mounds on the new lead, showing that miners are still actually
at work in the neighbourhood; nor are they working without hope.
Passing through the abandoned claims, we shortly found ourselves on
the brow of the hill overlooking the Chinamen's gardens, of which we
had come in search, and, dipping into the valley, we were soon in
front of them. They are wonderfully neat and well kept. The oblong
beds are raised some ten inches above the level of the walks, and the
light and loamy earth is kept in first-rate condition. The Chinamen
are far less particular about their huts, which are both poor and
frail. Some of them are merely of canvas, propped up by gum-tree
branches, to protect them from the wind and weather. But John has more
substantial dwellings than these, for here, I observe, is a neat
little cluster of huts, one in the centre being a well-constructed
weatherboard, with a real four-paned glass window in it.
Crossing the ditch surrounding the gardens upon a tottering plank, and
opening the little gate, we went in. The Chinamen were, as usual,
busily at work. Some were hoeing the light soil, and others, squatted
on their haunches, were weeding. They looked up and wished us "Good
evening" as we passed along. Near the creek, which bounded one end of
the ground, a John was hauling up water from the well; I took a turn
at the windlass, and must confess that I found the work very hard.
The young vegetables are reared with the greatest care, and each plant
is sedulously watched and attended to. Here is a John, down on his
haunches, with a pot of white mixture and a home-manufactured brush,
painting over the tender leaves of some young cabbages, to save them
from blight. He has to go through some hundreds of them in this way.
Making our way into one of the larger huts, we stroll into the open
door, and ask a more important-looking man if he has any water-melon?
We get a splendid one for "four-pin," and have a delicious "_gouter_."
Our host--a little, dry, withered-up fellow, dressed in a soiled blue
cotton jacket, and wide trowsers which flap about his ankles--collects
the rind for his fowls. The hard-beaten ground is the only flooring of
the hut, and the roof is simply of bark.
In one of the corners of the cabin was a most peculiar-looking affair,
very like a Punch and Judy show. On the proscenium, as it were, large
Chinese letters were painted. Inside was an image or idol (the joss),
carved in wood, with gorgeous gilded paper stuck all round him. A
small crowd of diminutive Chinamen knelt before him, doing homage. On
the ledge before the little stage was a glass of _porter_ for the idol
to drink, and some rice and fruit to satisfy his appetite. Numerous
Chinese candles, like our wax tapers, were put up all round inside,
and the show, when lit up, must have looked very curious.
The Chinamen are always pleased at any notice taken of their houses,
so we penetrated a little further into the dwelling. In one little
room we found a young fellow reading a Chinese book with English words
opposite the characters. It seemed a sort of primer or word-book. My
friend having asked the Chinaman to give us some music on an
instrument hanging above him, which looked something like our banjo,
he proceeded to give us some celestial melodies. The tunes were not
bad, being in quick time, not unlike an Irish jig, but the chords were
most strange. He next played a tune on the Chinese fiddle, very thin
and squeaky. The fiddle consists of a long, straight piece of wood,
with a cross-piece fixed on to the end of it. Two strings stretch from
the tip of the cross-piece to the end of the long piece. The
instrument is rested on the knee, and the gut of the bow, which is
between the two strings, is drawn first across one and then the other.
An invisible vocalist, in the adjoining cabin, gave us a song to the
accompaniment of the violin. I should imagine that it was a
sentimental song, as it sounded very doleful; it must surely have been
the tune that the old cow died of!
We were now in the bedroom, which was a most quaint affair. You must
not imagine that the Chinamen sleep on beds at all--at least the
Chinamen here do not. A wooden stretcher, covered with fine straw
matting, is sufficient for their purpose. The room was lit by a small
window; the walls were decorated with a picture or two from the
'Illustrated London News,' placed side by side with Chinese likenesses
of charming small-footed ladies, gaudily dressed in blues and yellows.
In another adjoining hut we found a Chinaman whom we knew,--a man who
comes to the bank occasionally to sell us gold. He was cooking his
supper, squatting over the fire, with an old frying-pan containing
something that looked very like dried worms frizzling in fat. "Welly
good" he told us it was; and very good he seemed to be making it, as
he added slice after slice of cucumber to the mixture. John showed us
the little worm-like things before they were put in the pan, and he
told us they came "all the way Canton." He offered us, by way of
refreshment, his very last drop of liquor from a bottle that was
labelled, "Burnett's Fine Old Tom," which he kept, I suppose, for his
private consumption. John's mates shortly after came in to their meal,
when we retired--I with a cucumber in my pocket, which he gave me as a
present, and a very good one it was. I often afterwards went over to
see the Chinamen, they were so quaint and funny in their ways.
I observe that in the cemetery the Chinamen have a separate piece of
burying-ground apportioned to them. There their bodies are interred;
but only to be dug up again, enclosed in boxes, and returned to China
for final burial; the prejudice said to prevail amongst them being
that if their bones do not rest in China their souls cannot enter
Paradise. Not only are they careful that their bodies, but even that
bits of their bodies, should be returned to their native land. There
was a Chinaman in Majorca whom I knew well, that had his finger taken
off by an accident. Shortly after, he left the township; but, three
months after, he one day made his appearance at our bank. I asked him
where he had been, and why he had come back to Majorca? "Oh!" said
he, holding up his hand, "me come look after my finger." "Where is
it?" I asked.
"Oh! me put 'em in the ground in bush--me know." And I have no doubt
he recovered his member, and went away happy.
My greatest pleasure, while at Majorca, was in riding or walking
through the bush--that is, the country as Nature made it and left
it--still uncleared and unoccupied, except by occasional flocks of
sheep, the property of the neighbouring squatters. North of Majorca
lies a fine tract of country which we call the high plains, for we
have to cross a creek and climb a high hill before we get on to them.
Then for an invigorating gallop over the green turf, the breeze
freshening as we pace along. These plains are really wonderful. They
look like a large natural amphitheatre, being level for about fifteen
miles in every direction and encircled all round by high hills. There
is very little timber on the plains.
The bush covers the ranges of hills between Majorca and these plains
or lower grounds, amidst which the creeks run. Here, in some places,
the trees grow pretty thickly; in others, the country is open and
naturally clear. There is, however, always enough timber about to
confuse the traveller unless he knows the track.
Shortly after my settling in Majorca, having heard that one of my
fellow-passengers by the 'Yorkshire' was staying with a squatter about
fourteen miles off, I determined to pay him a visit. I thought I knew
the track tolerably well; but on my way through the bush I got
confused, and came to the conclusion that I had lost my way. When
travellers get lost, they usually "_coo-ee_" at the top of their
voice, and the prolonged note, rising at the end, is heard at a great
distance in the silence of the bush. I _coo-ied_ as loud as I could,
and listened; but there was no response. I rode on again, and at
length I thought I heard a sort of hammering noise in the distance. I
proceeded towards it, and found the noise occasioned by a man chopping
wood. Glad to find I was not yet lost, I went up to him to ask my way.
To my surprise, he could not speak a word of English. I tried him in
German, I tried him in French. No! What was he, then? I found, by his
_patois_, a few words of which I contrived to make out, that he was a
Savoyard, who had only very recently arrived in the colony. By dint of
signs, as much as words, I eventually made out the direction in which
I was to go in order again to find the track that I had missed, and I
took leave of my Savoyard with thanks.
I succeeded in recovering the track, and eventually reached the
squatter's house in which my friend resided. It was a large stone
building, erected in the modern style of villa architecture. Beside it
stood the original squatter's dwelling. What a contrast they
presented! The one a tall, handsome house; the other a little,
one-storied, shingle-roofed hut, with queer little doors and windows.
My friend, as he came out and welcomed me, asked me to guess what he
had been just doing. He had been helping to put in the new stove in
the kitchen, for the larger house is scarcely yet finished. He told
me what a good time he was having: horses to ride, doing whatever he
liked, and enjoying a perfect Liberty Hall.
The host himself shortly made his appearance, and gave me a cordial
welcome. After dinner we walked round and took a view of the place.
Quite a little community, I found, lived about; for our host is a
large squatter, farmer, and miller; all the people being supplied with
rations from the station store. There is even a station church
provided by the owner, and a clergyman comes over from Maryborough
every Sunday afternoon to hold the service and preach to the people.
After a very pleasant stroll along the banks of the pretty creek which
runs near the house, I mounted my nag, and rode slowly home in the
cool of the evening.
CHAPTER XI.
AUSTRALIAN WINTER--THE FLOODS.
THE VICTORIAN CLIMATE--THE BUSH IN WINTER--THE EUCALYPTUS, OR
AUSTRALIAN GUM-TREE--BALL AT CLUNES--FIRE IN THE MAIN STREET--THE
BUGGY SAVED--DOWN-POUR OF RAIN--GOING HOME BY WATER--THE FLOODS
OUT--CLUNES SUBMERGED--CALAMITY AT BALLARAT--DAMAGE DONE BY THE
FLOOD--THE CHINAMEN'S GARDENS WASHED AWAY.
I was particularly charmed with the climate of Victoria. It is really
a pleasure to breathe the air: it is so pure, dry, and exhilarating.
Even when the temperature is at its highest, the evenings are
delightfully cool. There is none of that steamy, clammy, moist heat
during the day, which is sometimes so difficult to bear in the English
summer; and as for the spring of Australia, it is simply perfection.
It was mid-winter when I arrived in Majorca--that is, about the end of
June, corresponding with our English December. Although a wood-fire
was very pleasant, especially in the evenings, it was usually warm at
midday. The sky was of a bright, clear blue, and sometimes the sun
shone with considerable power. No one would think of going out with a
great coat in winter, excepting for a long drive through the bush or
at night. In fact, the season can scarcely be termed winter; it is
rather like a prolonged autumn; extending from May to August. Snow
never falls,--at least, I never saw any during the two winters I spent
in the colony; and although there were occasional slight frosts at
night in the month of August, I never observed the ice thicker than a
wafer. I once saw a heavy shower of hail, as it might fall in England
in summer; but it melted off the ground directly.
In proof of the mildness of the climate, it may further be mentioned
that the Australian vegetation continues during the winter months. The
trees remain clothed in their usual garb, though the leaves are of a
somewhat browner hue than in the succeeding seasons.
The leaves of the universal gum-tree, or Eucalyptus of Australia, are
pointed, each leaf seeming to grow separately, and they are so
disposed as to give the least possible shade. Instead of presenting
one surface to the sky and the other to the earth, as is the case with
the trees of Europe, they are often arranged vertically, so that both
sides are equally exposed to the light. Thus the gum-tree has a
pointed and sort of angular appearance, the leaves being thrust out in
all directions and at every angle. The blue-gum and some others have
the peculiarity of throwing off their bark in white-grey longitudinal
strips or ribands, which, hanging down the branches, give them a
singularly ragged look, more particularly in winter. From this
description, it will be gathered that the gum-tree is not a very
picturesque tree; nevertheless, I have seen some in the far bush which
were finely proportioned, tall, and might even be called handsome.
The fine winter weather continues for months, the days being dry and
fine, with clear blue sky overhead, until about the end of August,
when rain begins to fall pretty freely. During the first winter I
spent at Majorca, very little rain fell during two months, and the
country was getting parched, cracked, and brown. Then everybody prayed
for rain, for the sake of the flocks and herds, and the growing crops.
At last the rain came, and it came with a vengeance.
It so happened that about the middle of October I was invited to
accompany a friend to a ball given at Clunes, a township about fifteen
miles distant; and we decided to accept the invitation. As there had
been no rain to speak of for months, the tracks through the bush were
dry and hard. We set off in the afternoon in a one-horse buggy, and
got down to Clunes safely before it was dark.
Clunes is a rather important place, the centre of a considerable
gold-mining district. Like most new up-country towns, it consists of
one long street; and this one long street is situated in a deep
hollow, close to a creek. The creek was now all but dry, like the
other creeks or rivers in the neighbourhood.
The ball was given, in a large square building belonging to the
Rechabites, situated in the upper part of the town. The dancing began
about half-past nine, and was going on very briskly, when there was a
sudden cry of "fire." All rushed to the door; and sure enough there
was a great fire raging down the street, about a quarter of a mile
off. A column of flames shot up behind the houses, illuminating the
whole town. The gentlemen of the place hastened away to look after
their property, and the dance seemed on the point of breaking up. I
had no property to save, and I remained. But the news came from time
to time that the fire was spreading; and here, where nearly every
house was of wood, the progress of a fire, unless checked, is
necessarily very rapid. Fears now began to be entertained for the
safety of the town.
The fire was said to be raging in the main street, quite close to the
principal inn. Then suddenly I remembered that I, too, had something
to look after. There was the horse and buggy, for which my friend and
I were responsible, as well as our changes of clothes. I ran down the
street, elbowing my way through the crowd, and reached close to where
the firemen were hard at work plying their engines. Only two small
wooden houses intervened between the fire and the inn. I hastened into
the stable, but found my companion had been there before me. He had
got out the horse and buggy, and our property was safe. Eight houses
had been burnt down along one side of the street, before the fire was
got under.
After this excitement, nothing remained but to go back and finish the
dance. Our local paper at Majorca--for you must know we have "an
organ"--gave us a hard hit, comparing us to Nero who fiddled while
Rome was burning, whereas _we_ danced while Clunes was burning. But we
did not resume the dance till the fire was extinguished. However,
everything must come to an end, and so did the dance at about five
o'clock in the morning.
Shortly after the fire, the rain had begun to fall; and it was now
coming down steadily. We had nothing for it but to drive back the
fifteen miles to Majorca, as we had to be at business by 10 o'clock.
We put on our heaviest things, and set off just as the first streaks
of daylight appeared. As we drove down the street, we passed the
smouldering remains of the fire. Where, the night before, I had been
talking to a chemist across his counter, there was nothing but ashes;
everything had been burnt to the ground. Further on were the charred
timbers and smoking ruins of the house at which the fire had been
stayed.
The rain came down heavier and heavier. It seemed to fall solid, in
masses, soaking through rugs, top-coats, and waterproofs, that we had
before deemed impervious. However, habit is everything, and when once
we got thoroughly soaked we became comparatively indifferent to the
rain, which never ceased falling. We were soon in the bush, where
there was scarcely a track to guide us. But we hastened on, knowing
that every moment increased the risk of our missing the way or being
hindered by the flood. We splashed along through the mud and water. As
we drove through a gully, we observed that what had before been a dry
track was now changed into a torrent. Now hold the mare well in! We
are in the water, and it rushes against her legs as if striving to
pull her down. But she takes willingly to the collar again, and with
one more good pull lands us safely on the other side, out of reach of
the ugly, yellow, foaming torrent.
By the grey light of the morning, we saw the water pouring down the
sides of the high ground as we passed. It was clear that we must make
haste if we would reach Majorca before the waters rose. We knew that
at one part of the road we should have to drive near the bank of the
creek, which was sure to be flooded very soon. Our object accordingly
was, to push on so as to pass this most perilous part of our journey.
On we drove, crossing dips in the track where foaming streams were now
rushing along, while they roared down the gullies on either side. It
was fortunate that my companion knew the road so well: as, in trying
to avoid the deeper places, we might have run some risk from the
abandoned shafts which lay in our way. At last we got safely across
the water, alongside the swollen creek, now raging in fury; and glad I
was when, rising the last hill, and looking down from the summit, I
saw the low-roofed houses of Majorca before me.
I found that we had been more fortunate than a party that left Clunes
a little later, who had the greatest difficulty in reaching home by
reason of the flood. At some places the gentlemen had to get out of
the carriages into the water, up to their middle, and sound the
depths of the holes in advance, before allowing the horses to proceed.
And hours passed before they succeeded in reaching their destination.
During the course of the day we learnt by telegraph--for telegraphs
are well established all over the colony--that the main street of
Clunes had become turned into a river. The water was seven feet deep
in the very hotel where we had dressed for the ball! All the back
bed-rooms, stables, and outbuildings had been washed away, and carried
down the creek; and thousands of pounds' worth of damage had been done
in the lower parts of the town.
A few days later, when the rain had ceased, and the flood had
subsided, I went down to Deep Creek to see something of the damage
that had been done. On either side, a wide stretch of ground was
covered by a thick deposit of sludge, from one to four feet deep. This
was the debris or crushings which the rain had washed down from the
large mining claims above: and as it was barren stuff, mere crushed
quartz, it ruined for the time every bit of land it covered. The scene
which the track along the creek presented was most pitiable. Fences
had been carried away; crops beaten down; and huge logs lay about,
with here and there bits of furniture, houses, and farm-gear.
I find the floods have extended over the greater part of the colony.
Incalculable damage has been done, and several lives have been lost.
The most painful incident of all occurred at Ballarat, where the
miners were at work on one of the claims, when a swollen dam burst
its banks and suddenly flooded the workings. Those who were working on
the top of the shaft fled; but down below, ten of the miners were at
work at a high level, in drives many feet above the bottom of the
claim. The water soon filling up the drives through which they had
passed from the main shaft, the men were unable to get out. They
remained there, cooped up in their narrow dark workings, without food,
or drink, or light for three days; until at last the water was got
under by the steam-pumps, and they were reached. Two had died of sheer
privation, and the rest were got out more dead than alive.
The poor Chinamen's gardens down by the creek, under Gibraltar, had
also suffered severely by the flood. MacCullum's Creek, in ordinary
seasons, is only a tiny stream, consisting of water-holes
communicating with each other by a brook. But during a flood it
becomes converted into a raging torrent, and you can hear its roar a
mile off. Within about five hours the water in it had risen not less
than twenty feet! This will give you an idea of the tremendous force
and rapidity of the rainfall in this country. Of course the damage
done was great, in MacCullum's as in Deep Creek. A heavy timber bridge
had been carried quite away, not a trace of it remaining. Many miners'
huts in the low ground had been washed away; while others, situated in
more sheltered places, out of the rush of the torrent, had been quite
submerged, the occupants saving themselves by hasty flight in the
early morning; some of them having been only wakened up by the water
coming into their beds.
One eccentric character, a Scotchman, who determined to stick to his
domicile, took refuge on his parlour table as the water was rising.
Then, as it got still higher, he placed a chair upon the table, and
stood up on it, the water continuing to rise, over his legs, then up
and up; yet still he stuck to his chair. His only regret, he
afterwards said, was that he could not get at his whisky bottle, which
he discerned upon a high shelf temptingly opposite him, but beyond his
reach. The water at last began to fall; he waded up to his neck for
the bottle; and soon the water was out of the house; for its fall is
almost as sudden as its rise.
I was sorry for the poor Chinamen, whom I found, two days later, still
wandering about amidst the ruins of their gardens. Their loamy beds
had been quite washed away, and their fences and some of their huts
carried clean down the creek. One of them told me he had lost 30_l._
in notes, which he had concealed in his cabin; but the flood had risen
so quickly that he had been unable to save it. I picked up a
considerable-sized stone that had been washed on to the Chinamen's
ground; it was a piece of lava thrown from one of the volcanic hills
which bound the plain,--how many thousands of years ago! These
volcanic stones are so light and porous that they swim like corks, and
they abound in many parts of this neighbourhood.
CHAPTER XII.
SPRING, SUMMER, AND HARVEST.
SPRING VEGETATION--THE BUSH IN SPRING--GARDEN FLOWERS--AN EVENING
WALK--AUSTRALIAN MOONLIGHT--THE HOT NORTH WIND--THE PLAGUE OF
FLIES--BUSH FIRES--SUMMER AT CHRISTMAS--AUSTRALIAN FRUITS--ASCENT OF
MOUNT GREENOCK--AUSTRALIAN WINE--HARVEST--A SQUATTER'S FARM--HARVEST
HOME CELEBRATION--AURORA AUSTRALIS--AUTUMN RAINS.
After a heavy rainfall, the ground becomes well soaked with water, and
vegetation proceeds with great rapidity. Although there may be an
occasional fall of rain at intervals, there is no recurrence of the
flood. The days are bright and clear, the air dry, and the weather
most enjoyable. It is difficult to determine when one season begins
and another ends here; but I should say that spring begins in
September. The evenings are then warm enough to enable us to dispense
with fires, while at midday it is sometimes positively hot.
Generally speaking, spring time is the most delightful season in
Australia. The beautiful young vegetation of the year is then in full
progress; the orchards are covered with blossom; the fresh, bright
green of the grass makes a glorious carpet in the bush, when the trees
put off their faded foliage of the previous year, and assume their
bright spring livery. In some places the bush is carpeted with
flowers--violet flowers of the pea and vetch species. There is also a
beautiful plant, with flowers of vivid scarlet, that runs along the
ground; and in some places the sarsaparillas, with their violet
flowers, hang in festoons from the gum-tree branches. And when the
wattle-bushes (a variety of the acacia tribe) are covered over with
their yellow bloom, loading the air with their peculiarly sweet
perfume, and the wild flowers are out in their glory, a walk or a ride
through the bush is one of the most enjoyable of pleasures.
I must also mention that all kinds of garden flowers, such as we have
at home, come to perfection in our gardens here,--such as anemones,
ranunculuses, ixias, and gladiolas. All the early spring
flowers--violets, lilacs, primroses, hyacinths, and tulips--bloom most
freely. Roses also flower splendidly in spring, and even through the
summer, when not placed in too exposed situations. At Maryborough our
doctor had a grand selection of the best roses--Lord Raglan, John
Hopper, Marshal Neil, La Reine Hortense, and such like--which, by
careful training and good watering, grew green, thick, and strongly,
and gave out a good bloom nearly all the summer through.
By the beginning of November, full summer seems already upon us, it is
so hot at midday. Only towards the evening, when the sun goes down--as
it does almost suddenly, with very little twilight--it feels a little
chilly and even cold. By the middle of the month, however, it has
grown very warm indeed, and we begin to have a touch of the hot wind
from the north. I shall not soon forget my first experience of walking
in the face of that wind. It was like encountering a blast from the
mouth of a furnace; it made my cheeks quite tingle, and it was so dry
that I felt as if the skin would peel off.
On the 16th of November I found the thermometer was 98 deg. in the shade.
Try and remember if you ever had a day in England when it was so hot,
and how intolerable it must have been! Here, however, the moisture is
absent, and we are able to bear the heat without much inconvenience,
though the fine, white dust sometimes blows in at the open door,
covering ledger, cash-book, and everything. On the 12th of December I
wrote home: "The weather is frightfully hot; the ledger almost
scorches my hands as I turn over the leaves." Then again, on the 23rd,
I wrote that "the heat has risen to 105 deg., and even 110 deg., in the shade;
yet, in consequence of the dryness and purity of the atmosphere, I
bear it easily, and even go out to walk."
My favourite walk in the bush, in early summer, is towards the summit
of a range of hills on the south of the township. I set out a little
before sunset, when the heat of the day is well over, and the evening
begins to feel deliciously cool. All is quiet; there is nothing to be
heard but the occasional note of the piping-crow, and the chatter of a
passing flock of paroquets. As I ascend the hill, passing an abandoned
quartz-mine, even these sounds are absent, and perfect stillness
prevails. From the summit an immense prospect lies before me. Six
miles away to the south, across the plain, lies the town of Talbot;
and beyond it the forest seems to extend to the foot of the Pyrenees,
standing up blue in the distance some forty miles away. The clouds
hang over the mountain summits, and slowly the monarch of day descends
seemingly into a dark rift, leaving a track of golden light behind
him. The greeny-blue sky above shines and glows for a few minutes
longer, and then all is suffused in a soft and mournful grey. The
change is almost sudden. The day is over, and night has already come
on. Darkness follows daylight so suddenly that in nights when there is
no moon, and it is cloudy, one has to hasten homeward, so as not to
miss the track or run the risk of getting benighted in the bush.
But, when the moon is up, the nights in Australia are as brilliant as
the days. The air is cool, the sky cloudless, and walking in the bush
is then most delightful. The trees are gaunt and weird-like, the
branches standing in bold relief against the bright moonlight. Yet all
is so changed, the distant landscape is so soft and lovely, that one
can scarcely believe that it is the same scene we have so often looked
upon in broad daylight. It is no exaggeration to say that the
Australian moonlight is so bright that one may easily read a book by
it of moderately-sized type.
But Australian summer weather has also its _desagremens_. The worst of
these is the hot north wind, of which I have already described my
foretaste; though old colonists tell me that these have become much
less intolerable, and occur much seldomer, since the interior of the
country has been settled and comparatively cultivated. But the hot
winds are still bad to bear, as I can testify. They blow from the
parched lands of Central Australia, and bring with them clouds of dust
and insects. I should think they must resemble the African simoom. The
Melbourne people call these burning blasts the "brick-fielders." The
parching wind makes one hot and feverish, and to fly to the bar for
cooling drinks; but there even the glasses are hot to the touch. Your
skin becomes so dry and crisp that you feel as if it would crackle
off. The temperature rises to 120 deg.--a pretty tidy degree of heat!
There is nothing for it but to fly within doors, shut up every cranny
to keep out the hot dust, and remain in darkness.
While the hot wind lasts, the air is of a heavy copper colour.
Everything looks yellow and withered. The sun appears through the dust
dull red, and no bigger than the moon, just as it does on a foggy
morning in London. Perhaps after an hour or two of this choking heat
the hot wind, with its cloud of dust, passes away southward, and we
have a deliciously cool evening, which we enjoy all the more
contrasted with the afternoon's discomfort. The longest time I have
known the hot wind to last was two days, but it is usually over in a
few hours. The colonials say that these winds are even of use, by
blowing the insect tribes out to sea; and that but for them the crops
would, in summer time, be completely eaten away.
Another source of discomfort is the flies in summer. They abound
everywhere. They fill the rooms, and as you pass along the streets
they rise in clouds. The ceilings are sometimes black with them, and
no food can be left exposed for an instant without the certainty of
its being covered with them. There is one disgusting yellow-bodied
blow-fly, which drops his maggots with extraordinary fecundity. The
flies are also a nuisance in the bush, where veils are usually worn
when driving, to prevent their annoyance. And in the swamps there are
vigorous and tormenting musquitoes, as I have elsewhere described.
After the parching heat of summer, and especially after the excessive
dryness occasioned by the hot winds, the whole face of the country
becomes, as it were, combustible, and bush-fires have at such times
burst forth apparently spontaneously, and spread with great rapidity.
The "Black Thursday" of the colony, some fifteen years since, when
fire covered many hundreds of miles, is still remembered with horror;
but, as settlement and cultivation have extended, these sudden
outbreaks of fire have become comparatively rare.
When Christmas arrives, summer is at its height. It finds us perhaps
gasping with heat, sitting in our shirt-sleeves for coolness, and
longing for the cool evening. Yet there are few who do not contrive to
have their Christmas roast and plum-pudding, as at home. As
strawberries are then in their prime and in great abundance, many hold
strawberry picnics on Christmas Day; while sober church-goers enjoy
them at home.
The abundance of fruits of all kinds affords one of the best proofs of
the geniality of the climate. First come strawberries, followed by
abundance of plums, peaches, and apricots, and afterwards by pears and
apples in plenty. Our manager's garden at Maryborough is a sight worth
seeing in summer time. Having a plentiful supply of water, he is able
to bring his fruit to great perfection. The plum and peach trees
seemed almost overburdened with their delicious loads. Through the
centre of the garden is a cool green alley, shaded with a vine-covered
trellis. The bunches of fast-ripening grapes are hanging on all sides,
and promise an abundant crop.
Some of my pleasantest associations are connected with the January
afternoons spent in the orchards about Majorca. One day a party of us
drove out in search of a good fruit-garden. We went over the hill to
the south, and down the long valley on the Talbot road, raising clouds
of white dust as we went; then up another hill, from the summit of
which, down by the banks of the creek, and almost close to the foot of
Mount Greenock, we discovered the garden of which we had come in
search. We descended and entered the garden, still covered with
greenery, notwithstanding the tremendous heat, and there found the
fruit in perfection.
Mount Greenock is one of the many volcanic hills which abound in this
neighbourhood. It is almost a perfect cone, some eight or nine
hundred feet high. "What a splendid prospect from the summit!" said
one of my companions. "Well, let us go up--there will probably be a
fine breeze on the top." "Too hot by far," was the answer. "Not at
all," said I, "the thing is to be done." "Well," said my friend, "you
may go if you like; but if you do, and are back in three-quarters of
an hour, I'll undertake to shout fruits and drinks for the remainder
of the afternoon."
A noble offer! So I immediately stripped, took one look at the steep
hill above, the withered grass upon it almost glittering in the sun,
and started. I was soon across the nearly-dry creek, and, beginning
the ascent, I went on pretty steadily until I was within about two
hundred feet of the summit, when the great heat began to tell upon me.
I stopped, looked down the steep hill up which I had come, saw what a
little way further comparatively I had to go, and clambered upward
again. It was still a long and fatiguing pull, mostly over loose lava
stones; but at last I reached the top, panting and out of breath.
After such a tremendous pull as that, I do not think any one will
venture to say that my lungs can be unsound.
I looked round at the magnificent view. It was indeed well worth
climbing the hill to see. I first turned my eyes northward towards
Majorca. There it was, with its white streak of pipeclay above it.
Beyond, in the distance, lay Carisbrook, with the bald hill standing
out in bold relief behind it. Nearer at hand are the mining works of
several companies, with their engine-sheds surrounded by huge piles
of refuse. Turning my eyes southward, I saw Talbot, about a mile off,
looking quite an important place, with its numerous red-brick
buildings and clusters of comfortable-looking houses. On the west,
towards Maryborough, lay a wide extent of bush, clad in its never
varying dark green verdure. The sky was clear, blue, and cloudless;
and though the sun was in all his strength, the light breeze that
played round the top of the mount made the air pleasant and
exhilarating to breathe.
I shortly turned my steps down-hill, tacking and zigzagging in the
descent because of the steepness. I was soon at the foot of the mount,
across the brook, and seated in the garden, enjoying the fresh fruit,
with an occasional draught of colonial wine.
Apropos of wine and grapes. It is anticipated by those who have had
the longest experience of the climate and soil of Victoria, that it is
not unlikely before long to become one of the principal wine-growing
countries in the world. The vine grows luxuriantly, and the fruit
reaches perfection in all parts of the colony, but more particularly
in the fine district situated along the River Murray. Most of the
farmers up country make their own wines for home use. It is a rough,
wholesome sort of claret. But when the Germans, who are well
accustomed to the culture of the vine, give the subject their
attention, a much finer quality is produced. There are already several
vineyard associations at work, who expect before long to export
largely to England, though at present the greater part of the wine
grown is consumed in the colony. A friend of mine at Melbourne has
planted an extensive vineyard at Sunbury, some thirty miles north of
the city, cultivated by Swiss vignerons; and, though I am no judge of
wine, the Burgundy which I tasted at his table was very grateful to my
inexperienced palate, and I was told that it was of very superior
quality.[9]
After summer comes harvest, when the farmer gathers in the produce of
his year's industry, takes stock, and counts his gains. Harvest is
well over by the end of February. When I rode out to Perry's Farm, on
the second day of March, I found the fields already cleared, and the
grain housed. All the extra hands had gone. Only a week before, the
fields had been busy with reapers, binders, and machine-men, for whom
enormous meat pies had to be cooked and great joints of meat
roasted,--for labouring men in Australia are accustomed to consume
much larger quantities of flesh meat than at home.
The scene is now perfectly quiet. The cows are coming in to be milked,
and a very fine lot they are--fifteen or more. The great stacks of
straw are shining in the red sunlight, for the sun is getting low,
though it is still warm. We go up to the farmhouse, having hung our
horses' reins over the rail, and saunter in through the back door.
Here no handing in of cards is required, for we know we are sure of
being made welcome; and in Australia hospitality is boundless. We
taste the grapes, which are just ripe, and wash them down with a glass
of home-brewed mead. But beware of that mead! Though it looks very
innocent, it is really very strong and heady.
The farmer then took us into his barn, and proudly pointed with his
heavy whip to the golden grain piled up on the floor; then over his
stable, to look at his horses. There we found our own nags, which had
been taken in for a feed. Bringing them out, and mounting again, we
rode on a little further to another farm situated on a hill-side a
little higher up the valley.
The farmhouse here is a little gem of a dwelling, situated in a nice
shady place, in the midst of a luxurious garden. Here, too, we
dismounted and entered the house, for we knew the host--a most genial
fellow, whose honest English face it was always a pleasure to see: it
was so full of kindness and good humour. We took a stroll round the
garden while the sun was setting, and then turned in for a cup of good
tea, which "missus" had got ready for us.
One of our entertainer's greatest delights was in talking about "old
times"--though they were only a year or two old after all,--yet "new
chums" were always ready to sit listening to his tales open-mouthed.
He had been a digger, like most of the farmers hereabout, and he told
us how he was the first to find the gold at the great rush at
Maryborough; how he saw the gold glistening in the gravel one day
that he was out in the bush; how, for weeks, he lived quietly, but
digging and gathering gold early and late, until, having made his
little golden harvest, enough to buy and stock a farm, he went and
gave information to the commissioner as to the find, and then what a
rush of thousands of diggers there was to the ground! how streets
sprang up, stores were opened, hotels were built, and at last
Maryborough became the great place that it is--the thriving centre of
a large mining as well as agricultural district.
In such old diggers' talk two hours had passed almost before we were
aware; and then we rose to go. The horses were brought out, and we
mounted and rode cautiously home, for it was now quite dark. It was a
fine mild night, and we had plenty of time; so we talked and laughed
our way through the bush--our voices the only sounds to be heard,
except it might be the noise of a bird rising on the wing, startled
from its perch by our merry laughter or the clatter of our horses'
hoofs on the hard ground as we trotted along.
Another day, I drove out with one of the neighbouring farmers to his
place on the other side of the Deep Creek. At this late season the
bush is dried up and melancholy-looking; very different from what it
is in the lovely spring time. Now the bush seems dead-alive, fast
putting on its winter garb, while withered stalks of grass cover the
plains. We pass the neighbourhood of a large squatter's station, the
only one about here,--the run being very large, extending for a great
distance over the plains. It consists of not less than 60,000 acres
of purchased land and 60,000 acres of government land, on which the
squatter exercises the usual rights of pasturage.
Crossing the creek by a wooden bridge, we were shortly at my friend's
farm. We heard the buzzing noise of the threshing-machine in the
adjoining fields. There was the engine busily at work, just as at
home. Steam penetrates everywhere,--across the seas, over the
mountains, and into the bush. We soon came up to the engine, where the
men were at work. It was pretty severe under a hot sun, amidst clouds
of dust and bits of chaff flying about from the thresher. Many of the
men wore spectacles to protect their eyes from the glare of the sun's
heat.
The engine was just about to stop, to allow the men to have their
midday spell of rest; and they were soon at their meal of meat and
cold tea. The farmer came upon some of the men smoking quite
unconcernedly beside the great piles of straw; and wroth he was at
their carelessness, as well he might be, for had a fire burst out, it
would have destroyed straw, wheat, engine, and all. The wheat seemed
of excellent quality, and the farmer was quite pleased with his crop,
which is not always the case with farmers.
We afterwards went over the farm buildings, which are neat and
substantial. A large stone barn has at one end of it a kitchen
attached, where the men's victuals are cooked during harvest time;
and, close at hand, is a comfortable stone cottage for the
accommodation of the manager and his family.
After going over the farm, I had a refreshing bathe in the creek, at a
convenient place; though I have heard that it is not unusual for
bathers who get into a muddy water-hole to be startled by a sudden
sting, and when they emerge from the water, to find half a dozen
hungry leeches hanging on to their skin. For leeches are plentiful in
Australia, and even form an article of considerable export to England.
We afterwards went out to Perry's harvest dance and supper, with which
the gathering in of the crops is usually celebrated, as at home. The
wheat had by this time all been sold and cleared out of the barn, and
it was now rigged up as a ball-room. We had a good long spell of
dancing, to the music of a violin and a bush piano. Perhaps you don't
know what a bush piano is? It consists of a number of strings arranged
on a board, tightened up and tuned, upon which the player beats with a
padded hammer, bringing out sounds by no means unmusical. At all
events, the bush piano served to eke out the music of our solitary
violin.
After the dance there was the usual bounteous supper, with plenty to
eat and drink for all; and then our horses were brought out and we
rode homeward. It was the end of harvest, just the time of the year
when, though the days were still warm, the nights were beginning to be
cool and sharp, as they are about the beginning of October in England.
One night there was a most splendid Aurora, one of the finest, it is
said, that had been seen, even in Australia. A huge rose-coloured
curtain seemed to be let down across half the sky, striped with bright
golden colour, shaded off with a deeper yellow. Beneath the red
curtain, close to the horizon, was a small semicircle of bright
greenish yellow, just as if the sun were about to rise; and bright
gleams of light shot up from it far into the sky, making the
rose-coloured clouds glow again. The brilliancy extended upwards
almost to the zenith, the stars glimmering through the darker or less
bright part of the sky. Though I have mentioned "clouds," there was
not a cloud to be seen; the clouds I name were really masses of
brilliant light, obscuring the deep blue beyond. I feel the utter
powerlessness of words to describe the magnificence of the scene.
The weather-wise people predicted a change of weather; and sure enough
a change shortly followed. We had had no rain for weeks; but early on
the second morning after the appearance of the Aurora, I was awakened
by the noise of heavy rain falling upon our slight iron roof. I found
a tremendous storm raging and the rain falling in masses. Our large
iron tank was completely filled in half an hour; and, overflowing, it
ran in upon our bank floor and nearly flooded us out. We had an
exciting time of it, baling out the water as fast as it ran in; for
somehow, the drain running underneath our boarded house had got
stopped. At last the rainfall ceased and the water was got rid of,
leaving everything in a state of damp--damp stools and chairs, damp
sheets, damp clothes, damp books, damp paper, damp everything.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 9: The kinds of wine principally produced in the colony are
Burgundy, Claret, white wine of the Sauterne kind, and a very
excellent sort of still Champagne. There are now regular autumn wine
sales at Melbourne and Geelong, at which large quantities are sold and
good prices realised. The total quantity produced in 1870 was 629,219
gallons.]
CHAPTER XIII.
BUSH ANIMALS--BIRDS--SNAKES.
THE 'POSSUM--A NIGHT'S SPORT IN THE BUSH
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