THIS last trip had given me a surfeit of the sea, and I made up my mind to settle down. In order to do so I looked about for some land having a prospective value, and at last fixed on a spot on one of the estuaries of Port Jackson, between the Parramatta and the Lane Cove rivers, a narrow peninsula known as Hunter’s Hill.

A good deal of this land had been mixed up in some of the early “land booms.” The principal portion belonged to Mrs. Reiby, better known in olden times as “Margaret Catchpole.” Some blocks had been mortgaged by Terry Hughes to the Bank of Australia—a bank that failed in the crisis of 1842. Owing to these intricacies, and doubtful titles, the purchase was made on advantageous terms. The work of securing a sound title was in itself an incentive to purchase the property, which I did in spite of all the forebodings and croakings of my friends.

I must confess that the locality did not enjoy a very wholesome reputation. The Lane Cove river is bounded on one side by the Field of Mars common—some 6800 acres of land which was, and had been, “jumped” by some very rough people—old convicts, runaway sailors, and jail-birds—who eked out a living by stealing timber and boating firewood to Sydney.

One of the landmarks in the river—the “Butcher’s Block”—owed its name to a foul murder. “Murdering Bay,” and “Tambourine Bay,” also had a blood-stained chronicle. On Hunter’s Hill proper there were also some reminiscences of the old felonry of New South Wales—one of the grants having been the property of the Quaker, Towel, who suffered the highest penalty of the law at Newgate for the murder of his servant-maid.

Had I the pen of a romancer I could here depict some thrilling stories, and record bloodcurdling anecdotes.

The “old hands” then living on the Lane Cove river in 1854 have now joined the great majority. Dear old Mrs. Reiby, as worthy and beloved an old lady as ever lived, often related to me the scenes so ably related by the Rev. Archbold Cobbold in his “History of Margaret Catchpole.” Hers is one of the many instances of the random justice dispensed in England in the early days of the present century, when people were sent out to Botany Bay for crimes which now would barely go beyond the jurisdiction of a Police Court bench.

“Black Charley,” “Billy the Bull,” and sundry other old identities, like the Quaker “Towel,” were, however, characters of a different type; and though they had more luck than the latter, and escaped the rope, their career in New South Wales was not altogether free from occasional encounters with the “beak.” The body of a Jamaica black-fellow—one of the firewood dealers of the Field of Mars—was one day found on a projecting rock, the head almost severed from the trunk; hence the name “Butcher’s Block.” The perpetrators of the deed were never traced, but I have strong suspicions that the murderers did not live very far from the spot.

Tambourine Bay, close at hand, took its name from a well-known person, whose “shanty” was built close by. This “lady” had musical proclivities, and a particular talent for the instrument generally played now-a-days by the corner man of a minstrel show. “Tambourine Sal,” however, did not end her days in that locality. Whether her beauty or her musical talent availed her, I cannot say; but she rose out of her abject position, got married, and—romantic though it may sound—one of her grand-children has since figured among the “highest in the land”—another of the many instances of the “progress of New South Wales.”

There are two more old identities of the Lane Cove river which I think are worthy of notice in this narrative. The first might be remembered by old colonists, who may have seen old “French Louis” paddling his small canoe across Darling harbour two or three times a week, or heard his rather rough language as he wended his unsteady steps back to his boat. This almost centenarian was French by birth, and had run away from a whaler at the beginning of the century. In the time when land could be easily acquired he had purchased a water frontage at Miller’s Point, where he resided in a bark hut, working on the wharves and on board ships in the harbour. During a drunken spree he sold his property for a bottle of rum and a “dump” (the centre part of a crown punched out, which, to multiply coinage, had then a value equal to the rim of the five-shilling piece.) When sober, he vainly endeavoured to regain possession of his grant papers. Failing in this, he gave himself up to drink, and so impaired his intellect that he was driven out of the city, and took refuge under a rock at the entrance of the Lane Cove river, eking out a living by the sale of oysters, which he took over to Sydney in an outrigger—s.s. Island Canoe—and, I am sorry to say, seldom returned sober, until I chanced to come across him, and by dint of patient and close examination elicited his past history.

It was rather a difficult matter to redeem this unfortunate old man. However, by gradually gaining his confidence, I succeeded in removing him to the French Consulate, housing him comfortably in one of the out-buildings, where the poor old chap spent the last year of his life in comfort and sobriety. He died in peace, and, strange to say, on the very spot which he had bartered for a paltry coin and a bottle of the diabolical mixture which deprived him of both his reason and a fortune.

During one of my first excursions in this ill-famed district I landed in one of the bays to make inquiries as to the ownership of a piece of adjoining land. In a very dilapidated hut, devoid of furniture of every kind—indeed, without any apparent signs of even food—I found an old man, barely covered with tattered garments, haggard-looking, emaciated, almost a living skeleton; and, worse still, stone blind! Despite the wretched condition he was in, one could detect in the looks, and more particularly in the address of this unfortunate creature, an undeniable stamp of gentility. A few moments’ conversation sufficed to convince me that my first impression was a correct one. This poor creature, formerly a Civil Servant attached to the staff of Sir Ralph Darling, Governor of New South Wales, like many unfortunate beings, had by his early folly lost his situation, and found great difficulty in getting other employment. Sickness, and at last the gradual loss of his sight, caused him to reach that degree of poverty which is a hundred-fold worse to a man brought up in luxury.

Having had to part gradually with even his garments, he was at last driven to live amongst the waifs of the city. When I found the unfortunate wretch, he was living on the very scant charity of the wood-cutters in the locality—sometimes days without food, and barely covering enough for his shivering body.

On inquiry I found that the sad tale was true, in every word, and I lost no time in altering the deplorable state of his affairs. With the help of a few friends a fund was raised, the hut repaired and furnished, and every comfort provided for the poor fellow. We imported books for the blind, which he very soon taught himself to read. Eventually I built my own house close to the spot, and for fourteen years seldom allowed a day to pass without spending a few moments with my protÉgÉ—a man of highly cultured education, with a wonderful memory, and truly a most entertaining companion.

During the stay of the Galatea in Sydney, in 1870, H.R.H. the Duke of Edinburgh, to whom I related the man’s history, became very much interested in the sad case; and although it has often been said that the sailor Prince lacked in kindness of heart or liberality, I feel great pleasure in stating that even the dreadful shock he sustained when he was foully shot at by O’Farrell at Clontarf, did not make him forget old Mr. Viret. When the Galatea was about leaving the port, I was summoned to Government House. The Duke was in the midst of his packing up prior to leaving. He met me most cordially, saying—

“I have not forgotten your blind friend, Mr. Joubert. Please send me the name and address of his friends in London. I shall send for them and see if I cannot prevail on them to make him an allowance. Meanwhile I wish you to give him my best wishes, together with this small present,”—which consisted of a five-pound note. The message, I must say, caused the poor old fellow even greater pleasure than the munificent donation, which, nevertheless, proved very acceptable. The poor man died whilst I was away from the colony, but to the last he was carefully looked after by the members of my family, and the circle of friends who had rallied round him since he had been enabled to resume the outer appearance of gentility, and been honoured by a Royal Duke. Such is life!

ALL All these, and many other stories of the kind, certainly did not improve the market value of this land for suburban villa sites. It had, however, the effect of keeping the price low—there laid the speculation. I bought the place with a perfect and thorough knowledge of its foul reputation, and set to work in real good earnest to redeem it—the position being good, the proximity to town an advantage, and above all the fact that this peninsula, with a main thoroughfare on the top of the hill, running from Ryde to Onion’s Point, admitted of sub-divisions giving deep water frontages to every allotment. All that was needed was some easy mode of access to and from the city, and, if possible, the closing up of the Field of Mars common, which, besides being a harbour for questionable characters, cut off the settlement from Ryde, Pennant Hills, and Parramatta.

The only road to Sydney was a circuitous one involving a crossing of the Parramatta river by means of an antiquated punt ferry at Tarban—a distance of eleven miles; as the crow flies the actual distance from Hunter’s Hill to the Sydney Post Office is barely four and a-half miles.

But in order to carry the bee-line from the one point to the other it was necessary to cross the water twice—first from Pyrmont to Balmain, then again from Five Dock to the northern side of the Parramatta River, near the Tarban Creek Lunatic Asylum. These two bridges, and the formation of the road, I estimated at £60,000. To raise that amount I proposed that the Government should re-assume the Field of Mars common; issue debentures bearing 5 per cent. interest, payable in 20 years; build the bridges, and, when the thoroughfare was open, survey and cut up the common, which I felt convinced would, besides benefiting all parties concerned, leave a fair margin of profit, and open up a large area of Government land now entirely locked up owing to want of access.

The first meeting to discuss this scheme I called at the end of 1853. Like all such matters, it met with most violent opposition—first of all from John Bull and his rights. The common had been given to the people—what right had the Government to take it back? Then every man wanted the bridge at his own door. The thousand and one difficulties raised against the scheme—the dead-set opposition, in and out of Parliament—far from deterring me from my object, acted as a stimulant. The fight was a long and bitter one to the very end, but the end came at last.

Thirty-three years, almost to a day, after the first meeting held in No. 227 George street, in 1853, the bridges were finished and opened for public traffic; and since that day several sales of land have been held in the Field of Mars common—the results showing that my first estimate of the value of that land was under-rated.

During the thirty years’ war for the bridges, other means had to be resorted to to bring population to Hunter’s Hill. The Parramatta river trade was a monopoly. Steamers, calling at unsuitable hours, charged an exorbitant rate. The company was an old-established and powerful one, and all attempts to run an opposition had failed. So did all endeavours to get anything approaching unanimity amongst the few people interested in the locality. Messrs. P. N. Russell and Co. had on hand a small screw steamer which they were anxious to sell. I looked at her, and after some haggling, chartered her at a low monthly figure for six months, with right of purchase. On the first of the following month the “Isabel” made her appearance at the wharf, and in lieu of 2s. 6d. single, carried passengers to and from Sydney at 1s. return. The first week or two proved rather uphill work, but when the first month came to an end the number of passengers increased materially, and it soon became evident that a larger boat would be required.

The neck of the monopoly was broken. Overtures were made for a compromise, fares were lowered, accommodation increased; but all of no avail. I made up my mind that we should remain independent, and from that day to this we have remained so. The fleet of handsome, swift boats belonging to Hunter’s Hill have all originated from the little unpretending “Isabel,” which all the jeering, ridicule, and bitter jealousy of its powerful opponents could not put down. She was nick-named the “Jezebel” and the “Puffing Billy,” and her safety was cried down. But she kept up her course in spite of it all, and with all her insignificance proved to be the originator of a new line which has tended to bring up the value of land from £5 an acre to £5 a foot!! The opening of the direct communication over the bridges has also, as it was natural to expect, brought on railways and trams from the city, and further increased the value of the land, which has now reached £10 and £15 a foot, and converted the locality into one of the most populous, thriving suburbs of Sydney.

Building having always been a favourite hobby of mine, led me to put up a good many houses at Hunter’s Hill. In order to carry out my building scheme, and to do so profitably, I sent home to Lombardy for some artisans under special contract. This, as might be expected, gave rise to a good deal of discontent amongst the working class. However, I had made a very binding agreement with my men, and held them more particularly by the fact that they had no knowledge of English. Besides, on the first attempt made to turn them off their engagements, I at once met the difficulty by a system of piece-work, which enabled them to work long hours, and actually make wages far beyond their expectations. When my operations at Hunter’s Hill came to an end, the assistance of these seventy odd tradesmen enabled me to take contracts in and around Sydney for large buildings, wharves, &c., which we carried out on the co-operative system most profitably, in spite of trades and trades’ unions.

HAD I kept at such works, and left mercantile pursuits to those who were better able to cope with such risky ventures, things might have prospered better; but, however, fate would have its way, and the consequence, hastened by the failure of the Agra Bank, led me into a loss of £54,000, which swallowed up all my hard-earned savings, properties, &c. Once more I had the world before me.

It is not in my nature to throw up the sponge, nor am I given to moping over pecuniary losses. My creditors proved their appreciation of the manner of working out the estate by presenting me with the deeds of the place I had built for myself on the banks of the Lane Cove river. There I stayed, looking around for a new field.

The Agricultural Society of New South Wales, of which I was a member, held a meeting in February, 1867, when a very unsatisfactory balance-sheet, showing a debit balance, was produced. A resolution proposed to wind up and close that institution, was seconded, and would have been carried, had I not moved as an amendment, “That, instead of winding up this useful institution, it be re-constructed on a broader basis, a new council appointed, the seat of the society removed from Parramatta to Sydney, and a show advertised in the course of six months from date, offering £800 in prize-money, and certificates for horses, cattle, sheep, poultry, pigs, wool, wine, farm and dairy produce, as well as implements, machinery, and manufactures.” The meeting was rather taken aback by the bold proposal, but there were amongst the members of the moribund society a few men such as Sir E. Deas Thomson, Sir W. MacArthur, John Oxley, John Wyndham, Howard Reid—now, I am sorry to say, all gone to join the great majority. These were the men to help any country or society out of difficulties. I had very little trouble, with the co-operation of such help-mates, in reconstructing the society on a new and firm basis. I gladly entered into my new honorary functions.

The Cleveland Paddock (now the Prince Alfred Park) was then a quagmire with a filthy drain running across it—a plague spot. This I at once selected for our new show-grounds. Draining, fencing in, and levelling, were easy works, soon accomplished. Having obtained the free use of the newly-erected Cleveland School, for fine art, manufacturers’, and horticultural exhibits, I built sheds, pens, &c., all over the paddock. Entries came in far in excess of our most sanguine expectations. The great day was approaching.

The 26th of August came, but with it one of those downpours which are only met with in tropical and semi-tropical countries. Our poor show certainly looked very dismal. The first day was something disastrous. On the night of the 26th, however, stars came out—mine must have been among them. On the 27th the gate returns gave £l,100! This kept up well throughout the four days; but what crowned all our efforts was the high price realised for all the blood stock offered at auction.

It had been a bold enterprise, but the great success achieved amply rewarded us for our hard work.

As the old adage has it, “Nothing succeeds like success.” Before the end of the year our members’ roll had increased from 63 to 2000. The society was fairly on its legs, with a substantial credit balance, central offices, a library, laboratory, &c., &c., and last, though not least, a monthly journal. The gratitude of the stock-breeders, as well as that of the citizens of Sydney, for having brought about such a result, assumed a very tangible form. A service of silver plate and a heavy purse of sovereigns was presented to me at the annual general meeting, when I was asked to assume the management of the concern.

This is the origin of the exhibitions which for many years have been held annually in Sydney and other cities in Australia.

The success of this first attempt, however, showed the necessity to have permanent buildings, and at the suggestion of the Council of the Agricultural Society, the Corporation of the city of Sydney obtained parliamentary sanction to appropriate the Cleveland Paddock, endow it, and erect the building which stands there still, and has proved of so much use to the city for exhibitions and other great public gatherings.

Following in the footsteps of the Agricultural Society of New South Wales, similar institutions have been started in other parts of the colony, in Victoria, Queensland, and South Australia. The great improvement in the breed of stock, as well as the development of many of the resources of the Australian colonies, are in a great measure due to the efforts of the indefatigable members of the council of that useful institution, which, I am sorry to say has, I am told, come to an untimely end owing to mismanagement and the jealous element of the various branches.

IT was during my secretaryship of the Agricultural Society of New South Wales that we originated the notion of holding an International Exhibition in Sydney and Melbourne, as a sequel to the Exposition Universelle of 1878 (Paris). In order to work up this scheme I was deputed to go to France, and whilst there acted as secretary to the New South Wales Commission.

This trip to Europe, after an absence of forty years, I look upon as one of the brightest events in my long career. I had never felt home-sick, but still, as I came nearer and nearer to my native home, all the old love came back for the dear spot. I can hardly convey the feeling of delight I experienced when the train approached the great city, and in the hazy distance I once again recognised the outline of the familiar, and, to all French-born, beloved Paris!!

My almost childish love for Paris had helped me from afar to follow all its vicissitudes. I had read with heart-breaking feelings the sad events of the several revolutions, the Franco-German war, the siege; and, worse than all, the Commune. I had read in all their heartrending details the destruction and desecration of that marvellous city, and I must confess was amazed to find it more marvellous, handsomer, more enchanting than ever! With the exception of the Tuileries and the Palace of St. Cloud, not a vestige of the vandalism of the Commune, not a trace of the barbaric invasion of the Germans were left. Like the Phoenix of the fable, Paris had risen from its ashes brighter and more attractive than ever.

Forty years is a long time to be away from one’s native land, yet as soon as I landed I found myself quite at home. I delighted in long rambles in the old familiar haunts. The morning after my arrival I threw open the window of my bedroom, at the Hotel du Nouvel Opera, in the ChaussÉe d’Antin, recognised the Rue Joubert opposite, and at once remembered that this well-known and familiar street (named after my uncle) led straight to the gates of the College Bourbon, where I had spent so many of my school days. The temptation was irresistible. I ran downstairs straight for the old spot, and without any hesitation through the courtyard into the class-room, to the precise form where so many years ago I had sat.

Lost in thought, I did not notice the entrance of the old portiÈre, who querulously called upon me to explain such an untimely visit. My attempt at an explanation evidently confirmed her suspicions of the insanity she very naturally attributed to me. It took some persuasion, weighted by the irresistible gift of a five-franc piece, to make her believe that I was in reality one of the old pupils. A further explanation brought out the fact that her husband was the “drummer boy” of my school days. A few moments’ chat with the “boy,” now advanced in years, made matters easy, and from him I ascertained that of all the old masters only one remained—Mons. Chapuizy—living on a small pension, in the Rue St. Fiacre. Having ordered a cab, I drove down to that address, ascertained that the dear old professor had rooms on the fifth flat, where I readily found the venerable gentleman—just out of bed—wrapped up in a tattered old morning gown. His reception, like that of the portiÈre, was at first rather stiff; the name on my card did not avail to wake up his memory.

It was only after many reminiscences brought to his mind that he resolved on offering me a chair. His first questions were rather amusing. He had evidently more knowledge of classics than of geography. New South Wales, Sydney, even Australia itself, seemed quite unknown to him. From the abject surroundings of the apartment, I guessed the penury of the occupant; and in order to loosen effectually the tongue of Mons. Chapuizy, I suggested that he should dress and accept a dÉjeuner at the nearest best restaurant, where, within half-an-hour, we sat in a private room. A couple of bottles of wine, and a breakfast such as I am sure the old gentleman had not seen for many days, quite melted his heart, and brushed off the cobwebs which evidently clouded his memory.

From him I ascertained the whereabouts of some eight or ten of my old schoolmates, whom I at once wrote to, and within a few days got up a meeting, which, during the whole of my stay in France, was adjourned from week to week, and any new schoolmate hunted up in the interim was summoned to attend. Had it been possible to have had a rÉsumÉ taken of these meetings, it would indeed have made up a most interesting volume.

As each member was brought he had to give a history of the last forty years. Coming from the antipodes I, of course, had the honour of being “the lion.” Still, some of the others had some interesting incidents to relate. Several had been in the army, some in the Civil Service; one—Leon Say—was then Minister of Finance, a post he had held during the Provisional Government after the Commune, when France, emerging from the sad trials of the war, lay bleeding and prostrate.

During that sad period the southern provinces had suffered from a most disastrous flood. Subscriptions had to be made for the victims of this new disaster. The Government cabled to Australia to get the Consul in Sydney to obtain contributions from New Caledonia to the fund. Knowing the poverty of that French colony, an idea came into my head that if the matter was promptly handled I could raise in Sydney some substantial assistance.

I accordingly asked the Premier (Sir John Robertson) for leave to get the use of the cable to Versailles, and from the manager of the Bank of Australasia leave to remit by cable whatever money I could collect up to 10 p.m. that day. Having made these preliminary arrangements, I started a door to door subscription; and such is the kind-hearted liberality of Australians that I was able to remit £800 that same night, and £400 more on the following day. 30,000 francs remitted from the antipodes, actually reaching Versailles within a week after the occurrence of the calamity—before Paris even had had time to organise a general subscription—seemed rather startling to the French Government. When Leon Say met me at our weekly gathering, and found out that I was the originator of this timely offering, he insisted on bringing the matter before the President of the Republic—old Marshal McMahon—who conferred upon me the Legion of Honour, together with his and the Duchess’ portrait, accompanied with an autograph letter, which I prize above all other rewards.

DURING the period of the Exhibition, and owing to my having to deal officially on behalf of the colonies for the international shows to be held in Sydney and Melbourne in the following year, I had naturally to come in close contact with many of the leading men of that period. For a time it was very doubtful whether we could get the assistance of the European Powers. They all kept aloof; and, in spite of the willingness of my friend, Leon Say, the Parliament positively vetoed the proposal made to vote money and send a French transport with the exhibits. Our opponent was the all-powerful Gambetta, leader of the Opposition and Chairman of the Budget. He was the sole arbiter of the destiny of our Exhibitions, and, they said, could not be moved.

We were in despair, when a vote of 5,000,000 francs was proposed for a cable from Noumea to Cape Sandy. The discussion on that matter was a long and bitter one; I happened to be in the House at the time. Gambetta fought hard against the vote. The discussion having been adjourned, I sought an interview with the great man, and complimenting him on his brilliant speech and on his evident omniscience, I pointed out to him that owing to the position of the Middleton Shoal lying in the way of the proposed cable, its being placed there was a practical impossibility. Gambetta at once sent for charts of New Caledonia and the eastern coast of Australia, saw the truth of my statement, grasped my hand, and acknowledged that I had furnished him with an irrefutable argument to win his case.

On the spur of the moment he asked me what he could do in return. The Exhibition vote, of course, was my object. Gambetta went carefully and minutely into the matter—inquired into the trade, past, present, and future, between Australia and France—and being fully aware of the importance of a thorough representation, gave me a short note for the Minister of Commerce, asking him to move to have the £10,000 credit put again on the Budget. It was one of M. Gambetta’s best speeches when he recanted all he had said on a previous occasion against the project, carried the vote, the granting of a transport, and the appointment of a Commission; and, since then, the subsidy of the Messageries and the establishment of branches of the Comptoir d’Escompte in Melbourne and Sydney. To this small matter great results are due—another instance of the truth of the old fable of the mouse and the caged lion.

I cannot say that on my return to Australia I found much gratitude for “services rendered.” During my passage back some good friends (?) had managed to throw cold water down my back, and on my arrival in Sydney I found all the offices in connection with the Exhibition filled.

Even the secretaryship of the Agricultural Society was taken from me. After seventeen years of hard work to make it what it was, I was politely requested to resign. I had to accept the commissionership of New Caledonia to secure an official entrÉe to an Exhibition which I conceived from the first, and, without boast can say, carried out in all its details up to its—failure!—for, after all, it was a great financial failure, like all such undertakings when carried out by Government, tied up in red tape, and bungled by committees.

What I say of the Sydney I repeat as regards the Melbourne show. Ten years have made Victoria older, but not wiser. The issue of the Centennial bears out my statement.

To say that I did not feel keenly the ingratitude of New South Wales would be an untruth. I did feel it most bitterly; and although I had looked upon that colony as my home, so bitterly did I feel the treatment that I made up my mind for evermore to leave it. But in so doing I also resolved that, cost what it might, I would prove practically the statement I had made, that Exhibitions well managed could not possibly show a loss. I accordingly waited until the close of the Melbourne Exhibition to start one in Adelaide, Perth, Christchurch, and at last one on a gigantic scale in Calcutta—larger than even that of Sydney or Melbourne.

I will quote Lord Ripon’s words at the closing ceremony of that great Indian Exhibition:—

“We cannot allow this day to pass without recording publicly the great obligations that are due to Mr. Joubert for the success of this Exhibition. I confess that when he first intimated his intention to hold an Exhibition in the capital city of India I looked upon it as an impracticable scheme. Mr. Rivers Thompson, however, held a different opinion, and I am happy to-day to acknowledge that Mr. Joubert has most nobly redeemed all his promises, fulfilled most honourably all his engagements, and deserves the thanks, not only of the Government of India, but of the whole population of this empire.”

Such words are an ample reward for all my trouble and labour. They have acted soothingly on the sore points which New South Wales had raised.

My stay in India was a long holiday, in spite of the hard work the Exhibition entailed; and before I leave the subject I might jot down a few of the reminiscences of my life and adventures in the East.