A SHARK STORY.
SYDNEY
TO
CROYDON.
(NORTHERN QUEENSLAND.)
An Interesting Account of a Journey to the
Gulf Country with a Member of Parliament.
By “SALTBUSH.”
PRICE ... ONE SHILLING.
Sydney:
“CAXTON” PRINTING WORKS, 247 GEORGE STREET.
1889.
FROM SYDNEY TO CROYDON.
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By “Saltbush.”
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HAVING received letters and telegrams from an old mate of mine who has been on the Croydon goldfield for some considerable time—in all of which communications he strongly advised me to pay a visit to the field in order that I might judge for myself as to its richness and permanency and its suitability for investment—it being in his opinion the grandest goldfield ever discovered in Northern Queensland. I finally decided to make the trip, and in company with a friend of mine, who with myself, had on a former occasion visited Normanton and the Gulf-country before Croydon was ever thought of, we started from Sydney on Monday, the 25th July, and as the incidents of our journey may prove interesting to many others who may visit the locality in the near future, I have ventured to jot down a few experiences and impressions picked up during the journey. We waited upon Messrs. Burns Philp and Co. in Sydney and made all arrangements as to return passage from Brisbane to Normanton, having decided to proceed overland from the capital of New South Wales to the capital of Queensland, my friend, who had never travelled that route, being particularly anxious to have a good look at the New England and Darling Downs country, more especially as I was pretty well acquainted with it, and could furnish him with some information concerning it that might be eventually both useful and profitable. Having packed our travelling trunks and various necessaries for the voyage, and confining ourselves to such articles as were absolutely indispensable, in order to make our “impedimenta” as light as possible—knowing from experience that too much luggage is a terrible handicap on a long journey—the first step was to secure berths on the Hunter River Steamship Company’s fine boat, “the Namoi,” which left the wharf at half-past eleven, for Newcastle. With the assistance of “Alick,” the well-known and genial bedroom steward, we secured a very comfortable cabin to ourselves on the upper deck, and a more obliging and attentive steward than the same Alick I never wish to drop across in my travels, as nothing seemed any trouble to him and he relieved us of all anxiety concerning our luggage by looking carefully after it whilst in transit on the steamer, and then, on our arrival at the coaly city, by conveying it on board the Northern train advertised to leave at a quarter-past seven, a.m., on the morning of the 26th.
As we had half-an-hour to spare before its departure we stepped across the street from the Railway Station to the Terminus Hotel, where we interviewed a very old friend of mine in the person of Walter Sidney, and imbibed a refresher in the shape of a first-class glass of whiskey and milk, which proved very refreshing in the sharp morning air, when we strolled into the main street; passing the Post and Telegraph Office and turning to the right, we climbed the hill at the back of the town, from which point of advantage we had a most glorious view of the city and its surroundings—the Pacific Ocean spreading away to the horizon on the right; Nobby’s, with its light-house lying in front of us, Carrington, late Bullock Island, to the left, and the city and its environs at our feet, altogether formed a most delightful panorama, viewed as it was under favorable circumstances, the morning being beautifully fine and clear with a crisp, sharp feeling in the air, which rendered our stroll truly refreshing and enjoyable.
Returning to the Station we found the train on the point of starting, so securing our seats and a supply of literature, in which the “Town and Country,” “Sydney Mail,” “Evening News,” “Echo,” and “Bulletin” figured prominently, we made ourselves as comfortable as circumstances would permit, having for fellow passengers, Mr. and Mrs. Blunt—the former the contractor for one of the sections of the Homebush and Waratah railway extension—who were on their way to Muswellbrook to spend a few weeks at home and enjoy a well-earned rest.
Leaving Newcastle we steamed along past Honeysuckle Point, then onwards through Hamilton, Waratah, Sandgate and Hexham, where we commence to traverse the famous swamps, rendered memorable as the breeding-grounds of the well-known and duly appreciated “Hexham Greys,” those noted mosquitoes, which beyond all question, are able to climb the trees and bark, whilst it is also an equally well-known fact that many of them weigh a pound, but as this is not the real mosquito season we escape any very pressing attentions on their part, and running along through this flat swampy country with the Hunter River shining brightly in the morning sun on our right, we gradually strike into better country, and by the time East Maitland is reached the land looks about as good and as fertile as they make it in this part of the world.
Passing the gaol on our right, where no doubt many an unfortunate is bitterly regretting the hour in which he strayed from the paths of rectitude, we shortly afterwards pull up at East Maitland, where the guard and porters inform us that passengers for Morpeth change here, and after a few minutes delay we again proceed on our journey, calling at High Street (West Maitland) where the inevitable newsboy supplies us with the “Maitland Mercury,” one of the best country papers in New South Wales—conveying, as it does, an enormous amount of information on every conceivable subject to its numerous readers—and a journal of which the proprietary may feel justly proud. On, past Farley, formerly known as the Wollombi Road, where most of the fat cattle are unloaded for the Maitland market, past Lochinvar, Allandale, Greta, with its noted colliery, Branxton, famous for the excellence of its wines, Belford and Whittingham platforms, and we emerge on to the famous Patricks Plains, passing through the valuable estates of Messrs. Dangar—Baroona lying to the left of the line situate on a commanding site, overlooking a most charming and extensive view of the surrounding country, Neotsfield being hidden away to the right, whilst the paddocks with their wealth of pasture are thickly dotted with groups of cattle in splendid condition, who seem highly content with their comfortable quarters. Past Dalcalmah, the beautiful residence of the late D. F. Mackay, who I remember years ago as the proprietor of “Bullamon” and “Nindygully” Stations on the Moonie, in the colony of Queensland—before the Messrs. Fisher became the purchasers—and where he passed many years in the pursuit of his occupation as a squatter, roughing it with his men through fair weather and foul, and where, no doubt, he contracted the seeds of the disease that eventually terminated his life; past the magnificent Beebeah Vineyard, the property of Mr. A. Munro, whose vines have won a deservedly high reputation for purity and flavor, and we pull up at Singleton, 49 miles from Newcastle, about half-past nine, quite ready for the breakfast which awaits us, and which we have been anxiously looking forward to for the last half-hour.
Several old friends greet me on the platform, amongst them being Harry York, formerly a well-known host at Jerry’s Plains, and Joe M‘Alpin, who is now the boniface of the old Caledonian Hotel, and who looks as though the life agreed with him down to the ground.
Breakfast over, we get under way again, and pass over the bridge across the Hunter, where a former member of the New South Wales Legislative Assembly now does duty as gatekeeper; and that reminds me of a racy story told at his expense, as follows:—During his Parliamentary career he on one occasion received an invitation to dinner at Government House, which, of course, was duly accepted; and at length, arrayed in full evening costume, he had the pleasure of stretching his legs underneath the Governor’s mahogany. Waiting at table was at that time reduced to a science in the “uppah succles,” and our worthy M.L.A., who felt rather at sea in such high and dignified company, awoke some compassion in the bosom of his right-hand neighbour, who, to relieve his embarrassment and to make him feel at home, engaged him in conversation on the various topics of the day. Soup was duly served, when a remark from his right-hand neighbour caused our friend to lay down his soup spoon and turn his head to reply. In a twinkling his plate disappeared, to our friend’s utter astonishment; but a supply of fresh fish brought peace to his soul for the time being, when “A glass of wine with you, sir,” from his friend caused him to relinquish his hold upon his fish-knife and fork, turn his head to reply, when, lo and behold! the balance of his fish, plate and all, disappeared like a flash. Turning round to continue his meal, our friend discovered his loss, and coming to the conclusion that some practical joke was being played upon him, he determined to keep a sharp watch during the remainder of the repast. Everything progressed to his satisfaction until the joint was served, when the same performance was likely to be repeated; but our worthy legislator was equal to the occasion, and, seizing his knife, he wheeled suddenly round as he saw the waiter’s hand stretched forth to grasp his plate, and in low but impressive tones said to the astonished waiter: “By Jove! if you remove that plate until I have finished with it I will chop your blooming hand off.” Tableau. Still onwards, passing through some lovely country, both agricultural and pastoral, of which the famous Ravensworth Estate forms no inconsiderable portion, noted in years gone by for the excellent breed of horses raised there by Captain Russell, we at length arrive at Muswellbrook, the great store cattle market of the colony, where thousands of horned stock from distant parts of New South Wales and Queensland are annually brought under the hammer and disposed of to various buyers, a great number of them finding their way into the grand fattening paddocks of the Hunter River valley, there to be topped up for the metropolitan market.
There is a sale advertised to take place on the day we pass through; and away on the hillside, at the south-eastern corner of the town, we observe the saleyards filled with cattle, whilst drovers and stockmen are hurrying hither and thither, giving life and animation to the scene; whilst buyers are congregating from different parts of the district in order to supply their requirements.
Mr. and Mrs. Blunt leave us here; and away we go past Aberdeen, pulling up at the bridge which here spans the Hunter, to replenish the water tanks of our engine. On past Turanville, of which a splendid view is obtained away to the left; and Scone, where thousands of pounds have been spent in the extermination of that terrible pest, the prickly pear. On through the fertile and beautiful valley of the Upper Hunter, past Wingen, with its famous burning mountain, and into the valley of the Page, tributary of the Hunter, eventually pulling up at Murrurundi, nearly 120 miles from Newcastle, about a quarter to one, and where we are allowed ten minutes to stretch ourselves and refresh the inner man if we feel so inclined.
We change engines here; in fact, we obtain two for one, it being absolutely necessary to attach an additional locomotive in order to climb the Liverpool Range at the head of the valley, and which I have many a time climbed on foot in the coaching days of King Cobb, when Murrurundi was the terminus of the Great Northern line, it being more than even their noted good teams of horses could do to drag a heavy load of passengers and mails to the summit.
Onwards and upwards we go, winding around spurs and alongside steep ranges, obtaining some magnificent views of the town and valley below, the prospect in some places being most lovely and enchanting, with its background of noble-looking hills; and at length we plunge into the tunnel and intense darkness, from which we emerge into the far famed Doughboy Hollow, a famous camping ground in the olden days, where the teamsters who had surmounted the difficulties of the range were glad to rest themselves and their tired cattle before tackling the black soil plains of Breeza, and where they would gather round the camp fires at night relating their various adventures by flood and field, backing “Doughboy” and “Damper” against “Bally” and “Brindle,” and swapping lies generally, until it was time to go to roost. On past the Willow Tree, Braefield platform, Quirindi—a thriving little inland town, situate in the midst of some splendid agricultural country—the whole of which, from here to Tamworth, must in the course of time come under the operation of the plough, and find employment and food for thousands of people—we at length pull up at Werris Creek, at half-past two, 156 miles from Newcastle, where, in exchange for half a-crown, we are allowed to discuss an ample repast in one of the largest and best refreshment-rooms in the colony, twenty-five minutes being allowed for the operation; and as a lavatory is attached to the establishment, we find a good wash very acceptable and refreshing before proceeding to dinner.
Here part of our train is detached, it being the junction of the North-Western line, and with its complement of passengers proceeds onwards, via Breeza, Gunnedah, and Boggabri, to Narrabri, the present terminus of that portion of the line; although it will be a good day for the colony when the extension is carried out via Moree to Queensland border, the country in that direction being some of the finest grazing land in the whole of the colonies, which must eventually become populated, as means of communication are provided for the people; the roads, so called, being simply impassable in wet weather, and many a time and oft have the inhabitants of that part of the colony been threatened with famine in consequence of their supplies being detained for weeks and months at a stretch in transit from Narrabri to their destination.
However, I suppose all that will come to an end when the colony is blessed with a progressive Government, and in the meantime we will proceed on our journey, via Currabubula and Duri, to Tamworth. We pass through beautiful open forest and plain country, every acre of which seems fit for cultivation, and is dotted here and there with comfortable-looking homesteads and smiling farms, and shortly pull up for a few minutes at West Tamworth, where I greet a very old friend on the platform in the person of Mr. David Brown, of Menedebri Station, who is beginning to look “like a flour bag” now, although still as smart and active looking as I remember him in years gone by, when he was bossing the Millie South run on the Galathera Plains, then the property of his father, and where a traveller was always secure of a real Australian welcome. He was riding, as usual, a splendid-looking specimen of a hackney, being always reckoned a good judge of a horse; but as the train waits for no one, except perhaps a Minister for Works or a Railway Commissioner, we bid each other good-bye and steam away for Tamworth proper, crossing the valley of the Peel and the river itself by a long viaduct and bridge, and curving away to the right, shortly afterwards pull up at the station, where on the platform I espy another old and esteemed friend, Mr, Frank Wyndham, who formerly owned the Boronga Station on the Macintyre River, but after many years of hard work and anxiety finally had to succumb to the combined forces of droughts, bad markets, and excessive rentals; but being one of the old sort, who never say die, he has established himself in business in Tamworth as a stock and station agent, and I was very pleased to learn he has succeeded very well in his undertaking, and is doing much better than he did in his squatting ventures. He deserves all the good fortune that time may have in store for him, for he is a “real white man,” whichever way you take him.
The town of Tamworth is pleasantly situated at the foot of a bold chain of mountains and on the Peel River. The soil on the flats is very rich, and has been occupied and under cultivation for years; and on the border of the town is situate the famous Little Paradise garden, a most lovely and charming resort during the summer months, which is duly appreciated by the citizens and those visitors who may be staying in the town for a few weeks’ change.
Skirting the foot of the ranges, with the river flats on the right cut up into farms and paddocks of every size, and tending eastward and northward, with signs of cultivation and occupation on every hand, we at length reach the Moonbies, and commence in earnest our climb to the tablelands of New England.
Onwards and upwards, following the course of a romantic-looking stream, containing some beautiful pools of clear, sparkling water, at one of which, where an overshot dam had been constructed, we pull up for a few minutes to replenish our water supply. Then, still onwards and upwards, we at length reach the summit, the first station on the tableland being the Macdonald River, 208 miles from Newcastle, a splendid stream of water, cool and clear-looking, and enough to make a dweller in the back blocks suffering from drought turn green with envy.
As it is now nearly six o’clock and darkness is setting down over the land, my powers of observation are for the time restricted, and can merely discern that we are passing through rocky granite country of poor character, although where patches have been cleared and ring-barked, it shows decided improvement, on past Walcha Road, Kentucky and Uralla. At 7.40 p.m., we alight cold and hungry at Armidale, 260 miles, where tea is provided, and for a cold, cheerless, uncomfortable meal, the tea at Armidale “takes the cake.” As the air is piercingly cold no fire is visible in the dining-room, whilst the viands are neither tempting nor appetising, but the fifteen minutes allowed soon expire and away we go again, and still rising we cross Ben Lomond—the highest point of elevation on any railway in New South Wales, it being 4471 feet above the sea level—302 miles from Newcastle, about a quarter to ten. Coiled up in a corner of the carriage with my rug wrapped round me I make myself as comfortable as possible, fall fast asleep, and do not awake until we reach our destination at Tenterfield, the present terminus of the line, at five minutes past one in the morning, and bitterly cold we find it on stepping out of the carriage and making our way to the coach in waiting to convey us to Browne’s Hotel, where fortunately a good fire and a warm welcome await us, but we are not long before turning in, being anxious to obtain a few hours rest in a comfortable bed before resuming the journey. At 5 o’clock Wednesday morning we are roused up by a knock at the door and a voice saying, “Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes,” and shortly afterwards appear in the breakfast-room where a well cooked and appetising repast is quickly placed upon the table, to which we do ample justice, and a few minutes past six take our seats on the box of Cobb & Co.’s coach with luggage aboard, to compass the 13 or 14 miles of road between Tenterfield and Wallangarra on the border and the terminus of the Queensland line.
Our driver is “Old Larry,” a well known whip on the Northern roads, and quite a character in his way, so that we have a remarkably pleasant drive in the crisp mountain air, and being well wrapped up we defy the cold, for it is cold without a doubt, many of the little pools by the wayside being coated with ice, whilst the frost in the valleys is thick and heavy, and the air ten degrees colder than on the summit of the hills, where the beams of the rising sun are dispersing the mists and warming the atmosphere. The steam rises from the horses in the frosty air, but they are staunch and good, and about eight o’clock we cross the border, and shortly afterwards transfer ourselves and luggage from the coach to the train at the township of Wallangarra, on the Queensland side.
I am afraid this township has not a very bright future before it, the surrounding country being of remarkably poor quality and evidently incapable of maintaining anything like a large population, and I should fancy that the branch of the Royal Bank of Queensland established there can hardly pay expenses, whilst the hotelkeepers must have all their work cut out to make both ends meet. However, I wish them all sorts of good luck—for any man deserves it who would live in such an out-of-the-way hole.
Our train starts about half-past eight and is not long in running into Stanthorpe, formerly a very thriving town and the centre of a large and important tin-mining industry, but judging from what we saw during the few minutes the train stopped, I should say now that the principal residents are goats and Chinamen; in fact, the place seems almost handed over to the Chinkies, and I hear that the Chinese Commissioners on their overland journey to Brisbane had a high old time of it here with their countrymen during their short stay, being driven round to the principal mines in the vicinity, and being made much of generally, to say nothing of the wine consumed in their honor.
Granite rocks and boulders are the principal features of interest as we steam along, but a few miles out of Stanthorpe the line follows the course of a lovely looking valley for some distance, giving us some charming views of mountain scenery from our coign of vantage, we having secured a very comfortable compartment right at the rear of the train, having a platform on which we can stand and view the surroundings and have a smoke in peace and comfort whilst viewing the line of rails disappear in our rear. The country shortly afterwards begins to improve, and as we near Warwick some grand agricultural land dotted here and there with farms comes into view, the train presently coming to a standstill at what will shortly be the main station, on the eastern side of the town. A goods shed has already been completed and the station buildings now in course of erection will bear favorable comparison with anything of their kind along the line, being built in a most substantial manner of a very superior kind of freestone, which I was informed was obtained at a quarry about twelve miles distant to the eastward, where there is an inexhaustible supply. After a few minutes’ delay we steam slowly across the Condamine River over a substantial bridge, and following a bend of the river to the westward, pull up at the present main station where twenty minutes is allowed for dinner, and a right good meal is served about half-past twelve, to which we do full justice, our five o’clock breakfast at Tenterfield having vanished into the mists of the past by this time—the viands being plentiful, the cookery excellent, and the country girl who waits upon us very attentive, the charge also being moderate—two shillings—and for the life of me I cannot understand the difference in the tariff on the overland journey between Melbourne and Brisbane. At Seymour, in Victoria, they give you a splendid tea for eighteen-pence, but for one early breakfast at Albury, and for any other meal on the New South Wales lines nothing less than half-a-crown is charged, so that protected Victoria will certainly compare favorably with freetrade New South Wales in that respect, whilst Queensland strikes a balance between the two, and gives you as good a meal as either of them for two shillings. However, the bell rings and again we take our scats shortly to commence our journey over the far-famed Darling Downs, as soon after leaving Warwick the panorama opens out and some magnificent stretches of country meet the eye on every side, the view being enchanting in the extreme, more especially as we are favoured with exceptionally fine weather, whilst the temperature is becoming decidedly warmer, making travelling far more pleasant than it was during the cold hours of the night and early morning coming through New England. Grand agricultural country this, as well as pastoral, farms being thickly dotted over the landscape, whilst splendid stacks of hay, visible at various stations, speaks well for the forethought of those who, having doubtless learnt a few severe lessons during our seasons of drought, have made preparations for the future. Passing Allora, a thickly populated farming district, with signs of cultivation visible on every hand, we pass over some splendid rolling downs divided into paddocks, and evidently forming a portion of the famous Clifton Estate, in which we discern some grand specimens of pure Devon and grade cattle, whose condition speaks volumes for the richness of the pasture, the water supply evidently being obtained from wells, with pumps worked by means of windmills of the solid-wheel type, numbers of which can be seen at work as we pass along, with cattle grouped around the troughs and tanks in their vicinity, whilst the prospect extends almost as far as the eye can reach.
A splendid hare is handed to the guard at one of the Clifton crossings, and we shortly afterwards pull up at Clifton Station, where the passing of the train appears to be the event of the day in the eyes of a few bushmen congregated under the verandah of the Clifton Arms; whilst the horses hitched here and there show that the arrival of the mail is evidently of some importance to the settlers resident in the vicinity.
The country continues of the same splendid description past King’s Creek and Cambooya, where the south-western traffic, via Leyburn, Inglewood, and Goondiwindi, joins the railway line, and where a splendid reserve is available for the carriers on that road. Still on, through grand farming country, passing under the road leading to Toowoomba through Drayton, past one or two small platforms and we pull up for a few minutes at Gowrie Junction to refresh our engine. Here the main western line from Mitchell, Roma, Yeulba, and Dalby, junctions with the Warwick and Stanthorpe line; and another eight miles, through farms, orchards, and gardens, with soil of the real Toowoomba color, brings us to the capital of the Darling Downs. We run out on a substantial trestle-bridge, and by means of a triangular section of railway back into the station, so that we have a clear run outwards when resuming our journey to Brisbane.
With a quarter of an hour allowed for refreshments, we step out and stretch our legs, have a cup of tea, obtain a couple of good havanas, and again resume our seats, and passing outwards towards the crest of the range obtain a very fair view of the town and its surroundings, the excellence and fertility of the soil being conspicuous on every hand.
Just as we commence the descent a lovely place is visible to the sight perched on a plateau at the summit of the range, a splendid orangery being a conspicuous feature in the surroundings, whilst the view obtainable therefrom would be hard to surpass in any part of the colony.
Onwards and downwards we go, mile after mile, the views from various points being magnificent in the extreme and extending for miles, comparing very favourably with some of the most romantic scenery of our own far-famed Blue Mountains. On round sharp curves, over spidery-looking bridges that look almost as though a strong gale would blow them over; across deep ravines fringed with beautiful shrubs and trees of every description, plunging through short tunnels built on the curve to such an extent in some instances that one wonders how on earth they managed to construct them safely—the whole forming a lasting monument to the engineering skill that managed to overcome the almost insurmountable obstacles that stared them in the face in their endeavours to open up railway communication between the capital of the colony and the Darling Downs. One particular feature of the journey struck me as an example worthy of imitation on the various lines throughout the different colonies. I allude to the numerous peach trees bordering the line, planted there by the gangs of fettlers employed in the maintenance of the permanent way between the summit of the range and Highfields, these trees being a treat to see during the summer months, and affording an ample supply of beautifully cool, juicy fruit during that time to the numerous employees on this heavy length of line.
Highfields, where we stay for a few minutes to replenish the water supply, is a most romantically situated spot, sheltered from the hot westerly winds that generally prevail on the Downs by a range clothed in verdure and greenery almost surpassing description, and I have often wondered why some speculative individual has not taken advantage of the natural beauties of this most charming retreat amongst the mountains and erected an hotel, to which the tired denizens of the city could resort during the hottest months of the year to renew their health and energy, feeling sure that the speculation would be one of the most profitable of its kind in the colony if properly carried out; for if our own colony can support hotels and boarding-houses by the dozen on the Blue Mountains, surely the colony of Queensland could maintain one of the kind, at least, in such a lovely spot, with a perpetual spring of pure water available for every purpose, which would enable anyone to turn the place into a veritable paradise on earth.
Leaving Highfields, with its sanatorium still in the womb of the future, we proceed onwards and downwards, passing some magnificent blocks of freestone of excellent quality stacked along the line, awaiting conveyance, the quarry from which it is obtained being situate in a gorge of the mountains immediately below, and with a supply evidently inexhaustible. Past Murphy’s Creek, at the foot of the range, we shortly afterwards pull up at Helidon for tea, where the good opinion we have already formed of the quality of the meals supplied on the Queensland railways is still further strengthened; the establishment being under the control of an old friend of mine, with whom I had often spent a pleasant hour in Brisbane, when he was managing a very large business venture in that city. Very pleased indeed we were to meet again; but the iron horse allows of scant delay, so with a hearty grip we part—I to resume my journey, and he to remain looking after the wants of travellers like myself; and if they never get into worse hands they will never take much harm.
Night has now settled down upon us, and shortly after passing Grandchester, with its beautiful plane trees growing alongside the station, I drop off to sleep, passing the intervening stations, including Ipswich, with very faint recollections, and am finally roused by my travelling companion as the train slows down just outside the Brisbane terminus for the collection of tickets, about a quarter past ten at night.
Shortly afterwards, with our belongings stowed away on board a wagonette, we are on our way to the Metropolitan Hotel, where I renew an acquaintance extending over many years with its jolly proprietor, Mr. J. A. Philips, but unfortunately have to interview him in his own private room, as he was laid up with a severe attack of the gout, and unable to leave his bed.
However, I find him as jolly as ever, making light of his affliction, and looking upon it as a matter of course; but he takes good care that our wants are duly attended to; and shortly afterwards, pretty well tired out with the long journey, I retire to rest, and sleep the sleep of the just until roused by the loud tones of the gong calling me to breakfast in the morning.
Just to give your readers an idea of the time occupied on the overland journey between Sydney and Brisbane I will summarise it as follows:—
We left Sydney on Monday night at half-past eleven; arrived at Newcastle early next morning; left there by train at a quarter-past seven a.m. on Tuesday; travelled all that day, reaching the present terminus at Tenterfield at a quarter-past one on Wednesday morning; left there at six a.m. the same morning by Cobb’s coach, and arrived at Wallangarra about eight o’clock, finishing the journey at Brisbane at a quarter-past ten the same night.
The steamer for Normanton had been advertised in Sydney to leave Brisbane on the Thursday, the day after our arrival, but on going to the office to make inquiries as to her time of departure, we were told that in consequence of having been delayed by running aground in the Brisbane River on her way up to the wharf, she could not possibly leave before Friday afternoon, so that we had a clear day to look around the city and hunt up our acquaintances. Not having seen Brisbane for a couple of years I took advantage of the opportunity to ascertain what progress the city had made since my last visit, and must say that the sight of the buildings lately erected gave me a very strong idea that the community must be in a tolerably prosperous state to enable them to erect such structures in their midst.
The Queensland National Bank, the “Courier” buildings, the offices of Macdonald-Paterson and Co., Grimes and Pettys, Finney, Isles and Co., the Imperial Hotel, and many others, would compare favorably with anything in the colonies, and would certainly be a credit to any city in the world. I also paid a visit to Parliament House, and must certainly admit that the lower chamber is far and away superior to that of Sydney in every respect, it being arranged much after the style of the Council Chamber in the latter city, but the accommodation for the public, and more particularly the gallery set apart for ladies, is perfect in its way, and offers an example that the older colony might well follow whenever it is decided to erect something more suitable for the purpose than the present barn-like structure that passes muster as the Legislative Hall of New South Wales. With regard to the refreshment room, Sydney has the advantage; in fact, I think it would be hard to find a finer dining-room than the one attached to the Legislative Assembly of the old Colony, but like the railway arrangements for meals, in this respect also, Queensland bears the palm, the tariff for all meals to Members of the House being one shilling only, and available every day, both in session and out, the consequence being that many Members of the Legislature who appreciate good cookery at a moderate rate, desert the clubs at meal times and give the preference to the Parliamentary cuisine.
We fell in with several Members of the Lower House, notably, Mr. Macdonald-Paterson, Postmaster-General, and Mr. Macrossan, the late Minister for Works; the former, a fine jovial specimen of humanity who did his best to make our stay as agreeable as possible, and who certainly left a most favorable impression on my mind as a courteous and affable gentleman of whom the colony may well feel proud.
However, it is not my intention to weary your readers with a description of Brisbane and its surroundings, so will proceed to relate more particularly the incidents of our voyage northwards, which may prove of more interest than descriptions of men and cities told many a time and oft by abler pens than mine.
The s. s. Rockton, 2000 tons, was the vessel destined to convey us to the port of Kimberley, in the Gulf of Carpentaria, passengers and luggage being transferred there into the s.s. Dugong for the remainder of the voyage up the Norman River, it being as yet impossible to get vessels of the Rockton’s tonnage and draught across the bar at the mouth of the river, and about a quarter-past five, p.m. on Friday, the 29th July, we left the wharf in Brisbane and steamed slowly and carefully down the river, being one day behind at the start through the before-mentioned accident to the vessel on her inward voyage. The usual bustle consequent on the departure of a large steamer with a full complement of passengers took place—many tearful farewells and goodbyes were uttered, many hearty hand-shakes given, and many a white handkerchief waved as we cast loose from our moorings, but there was little or no confusion, Captain Leggett and his officers reducing everything to apple pie order in a very short space of time, whilst the passengers began to look about them trying to discover who were their companions for the voyage and what sort of a prospect was held out for a pleasant passage, as it depends very much upon the company one happens to meet whether matters go smoothly or not, and judging from personal observations, we were evidently in for a sociable and enjoyable trip.
We got safely out of the river just as the night came on, bore across for the light on Moreton Island, got safely over the outer bar, and the voyage had fairly commenced, our first port of call being Townsville; and as by this time it was about a fair thing, I turned in and had a good night’s rest, the sea being comparatively smooth, whilst the steamer, with the wind abeam, was going a good twelve knots and giving every prospect of a rapid passage—a promise fully borne out by results.
On we sped, passing Frazer Island and the Great Sandy Cape on Saturday morning, very little occurring to break the monotony of the voyage, except that off the Cape we noticed thousands of sea birds engaged in fishing—a very interesting performance to those who had not previously witnessed anything of the kind—and as we were very close to them, in fact they almost surrounded us, we had a splendid view of the operation.
A bird would rise from sixty to a hundred feet above the surface of the sea, then turn, and with head down, wings folded closely to its sides, come down like a stone, disappearing under the water for a few seconds, when it would emerge—in most instances with its finny prey secured—and after paddling on the surface for a few yards, disposing of its capture, it would again take wing, and mingling amongst its fellows again and again go through the same evolutions with varying success.
We had also some glimpses of lovely islands scattered here and there on the calm surface of the sea, which, together with the glorious views of the mainland, combined to form a most exquisite picture, ever changing and ever enjoyable, more especially to those who had not previously taken a trip along the lovely northern coast.
We had the usual variety of games by which travellers on shipboard manage to while away the time—deck quoits, whist, cribbage, penny nap., draughts, and chess, and amongst those who affected the latter game was “Uncle John,”—a perfect character in his way, and a never-failing fund of amusement to his fellow-passengers,—who was en route to Cooktown on business connected with the construction of the railway from that place to Maytown. A jovial old card at all hours and under all circumstances was “Uncle,” ever on the watch to persuade a friend to join him in “viewing the alligator,” ever ready to join in a round game at cards or meet an opponent over the chess board, where his preternatural look of wisdom and “whuskey,” combined with his witty remarks on the progress of the game, would afford a regular “go as you please” entertainment to his delighted auditors, chief amongst whom was a little four-eyed specimen of the tribe of Israel, whose laugh at “Uncle’s” sallies was loud and continuous, until it finally became monotonous, and created a murderous desire in the breasts of those in the immediate vicinity, more especially when he followed the old man about with a pressing request that he would again entertain him with the funny story of “The broken down walls of Jerusalem.” “Vich vas de pest yarn, sho elp me neffer, dat I efer hear in all mine life, und gome und dell it to dis shentleman; he was not hea it at all yet,” until we all had it by heart.
At meal times also “Uncle” was a regular picnic all to himself, and a chop trying a wrestling match with the “old un” invariably came off second best, for, seizing it by the shank end, it would disappear down his capacious maw with a rush, the bone reappearing immediately afterwards as bare of meat as a black gin’s shin-bone; whilst he would dive the fork he was using into the dish of spuds and impale one with unerring aim, to the great “amusement” (?) of his nearest neighbours. As for the dessert, particularly the oranges and bananas, the way it disappeared was a caution to boa constrictors. And as Uncle was never sick or sorry, but always on hand whenever the saddling bell rang, I am afraid the purser did not get much the best of the deal.
However, the old boy was a jolly good old sort, able to give a joke or take one with perfect good humour, and the last we saw of him was going over the side and down the companion ladder into the ship’s boat for delivery in Cooktown, with the following label secured firmly to his coat:—“I am out for the night; when full, take me home; address, Uncle John, Cooktown Gaol.” And one of our passengers who went ashore in the same boat says the old chap was safely landed, the last words he heard him utter being, “Stand up, lads; my shout this time!” in the bar of Poole’s hotel.
We also had on board Mr. B. Cribb, who was on his way to Croydon to act as P.M. and assist the Warden at that place in getting through the vast amount of work caused by the large influx of diggers, attracted by the reports current throughout the colonies of the richness of the field; together with Messrs. Hassall and Waddell, members of the N.S.W. Legislature, who were taking advantage of the recess to pay a visit to the field; and many others, including a brother of Mr. Cribb’s, Charley Street, a well-known expert telegraph operator, who had been told off to help the unfortunate post and telegraph master at Croydon (who was nearly worked to death) pull through the enormous amount of business which was being done since the opening of the office; Mr. Wilson Le Couteur, the possessor of a magnificent voice and an extensive repertoire of songs, with which he whiled away many a pleasant hour, who had been instructed by the A.U.S.N. Co. to proceed to Normanton and report upon the best means of doing away with the delay that now exists in landing and lightering the vast quantities of goods shipped to that port.
It was high time some decisive steps were taken in reference to this important matter, affecting, as it does, the future welfare of nearly the whole of the residents of the Gulf country, who are at present, and will be for years, mainly dependent upon outside supplies for the necessaries of life; the country around here which has come under my observation being totally unfitted for agriculture. And in view of the immense increase in business which has taken place since the discovery of the Croydon goldfield, of which the A.U.S.N. Co. are reaping the direct benefit, it was a good stroke of policy on their part to send a gentleman of Mr. Le Couteur’s ability, knowledge, and tact to discover and report upon the best means to be adopted in order to attain the end in view; and, speaking for myself and many others who have made this trip more than once, sincerely hope that suggestions made by him to the company he represents may be carried out in their entirety, and without any unnecessary delay.
The rest of our passengers were of the usual mixed order found on board most coasting steamers—a fairly representative collection of the various trades and professions incidental to colonial life, who fraternised together in the usual way, and, as a rule, did their best to entertain each other during the voyage; the number being largely increased on our arrival at Townsville by an influx of miners, machine owners, and speculators from Charters Towers, some of them accompanied by their wives and children, and evidently intent upon settling down at Croydon and giving the place a fair trial in a thoroughly practical way. We arrived at Townsville on Monday morning, and cast anchor in the bay shortly before eleven o’clock, but it was some little time before the steam tender came off to convey mails and passengers ashore; our captain, Mr. Cribb, Mr. Le Couteur, and one or two others being accommodated with a seat in the Customs’ boat, which had come alongside in the meantime. The usual inconveniences of landing at Townsville were experienced on this occasion, for, notwithstanding the large sums of money spent in trying to improve the port by erecting jetties and by dredging, it is almost as difficult to land now as it was years ago, when the first rush took place to Charters Towers.
The steam tender took us as far as the bar at the end of the jetty right enough, but there the trouble commenced as we had to tranship into the steamer’s boat, which the officer in charge had taken the precaution to tow behind us, and from that we were transferred or landed on the northern jetty, climbing up the blocks of stone of which it is composed as best we might, winding up with a fairly long walk under a glaring sun over a pretty rough track with a heavy patch of sand to wind up with, and finally pulling up at the Criterion Hotel for a refresher, where I met several old and valued friends, including Mr. Fred Johnson, who looks as well and hearty as when I met him nearly ten years ago, Mr. Hubert, Tom Coyle, and many others.
As we had about eight hours to spare I utilised the time by having a look around the city, and found that many improvements had been made since my last visit, and from all appearances the place has every prospect of a prosperous future, although just at present matters are as dull as the proverbial ditch-water; Townsville, like many other places throughout the colony, having suffered severely from the effects of the late drought, but signs of improvement are visible in consequence of the present really good season, and the beef and mutton exhibited in the shops of Messrs. Castling and Johnson would compare favorably with anything in Australia.
Townsville has long been noted for the excellence of its hotel accommodation, and years ago when the Queen’s Hotel was under the management of Mr. and Mrs. Harry Boulton, now of Pfahlert’s Hotel, Wynyard Square, Sydney, the name was a household word amongst all travellers whom business and pleasure took northwards, for the excellence of its arrangements; and under the present supervision of Mr. and Mrs. Cran it has lost none of its former prestige, whilst the “Imperial,” established by Mr. D. Buchanan, and now conducted by Mrs. W. Eaton, late of the Criterion Hotel, Rockhampton, will compare favorably with anything of the kind in the colonies.
The news of the good crushings at Croydon had created quite a stir, and many of the old pioneers of the north were thinking of paying a visit to the new “El Dorado,” in order to ascertain from personal observation what the future prospects of the gold-field were likely to be, and their opinions will doubtless be looked forward to with a great deal of interest by their immediate circle of friends and acquaintances, as well as many others who will rely upon it before making a start for this as yet comparatively unknown country.
We had been instructed by the “Skipper” to be at the Company’s wharf about 4 o’clock, and about that hour crowds of people are congregated in that locality—the majority of them being passengers, attended by their relatives and friends, who have come to wish them God-speed on their voyage—and on the tender putting in an appearance and making fast to the wharf quite a rush took place to secure seats on board, the little vessel being crowded to its utmost capacity with passengers and luggage. As the tide is making we get out safely, and without any delay, are shortly aboard the “Rockton,” the anchor being weighed a few minutes after 7 p.m., and with a fair wind and smooth sea we continue our voyage, taking the outside track round Magnetic Island, obtaining a splendid view of it and the Palms as we steam along. Nothing occurs to break the monotony until we arrive at Cooktown, where the anchor is let go about 5 p.m. on Tuesday, the ship’s boat being very quickly in readiness to convey the captain, purser, mails and passengers, ashore, but as it is pretty rough I prefer staying on board, giving our genial old friend, “Uncle John,” a parting salute as he goes over the side with about as much ballast aboard as he can carry.
We are only delayed about five hours when everything is again in readiness to resume our voyage, the passenger list being supplemented by a few fresh arrivals, causing some of the state-rooms to be rather inconveniently crowded, but as the nights are warm and the weather keeps gloriously fine many of us prefer sleeping on deck, and by the aid of pillows, mattrasses, and rugs, succeed in making ourselves perfectly comfortable. Captain Thompson, whose duty it is to take charge of the vessels belonging to the A.U.S.N. Co. during the passage between Cooktown and Thursday Island, and vice versa, comes aboard here for the purpose of superintending the intricate navigation of this portion of the eastern seaboard, and as we also have the services of Captain Keating available in that capacity, in addition to the practical seamanship and knowledge of the coast possessed by Captain Leggett, we have every prospect of pulling through in good time and without the necessity of having to anchor at night; more especially as the nights are beautifully fine and clear with a good moon, which renders, by means of its light, most valuable assistance.
I have often wondered how it is, that further south where plenty of sea room is always at command, accidents of the Ly-ee-moon and Cahors type should be of more frequent occurrence than they are in the intricate navigation between the Barrier Reef and the mainland, where, if such calamities did happen, it would not be so much matter for wonderment, and some excuse could be made for those in charge of valuable human lives and property, and can only account for it by the fact that the danger renders everyone connected with the vessel most vigilant and attentive; pilot, captain, and officers, being always on the alert to secure the safety of everything under their control.
On Wednesday morning we have a rare bit of fun. One of our passengers—the little Jew, wearing specs., before mentioned—was coming out of his cabin, and hearing a commotion going on in the fore part of the steamer, asked a steward whom he chanced to meet, “Vat vhas all the row aboud?” There was a sail in sight ahead, and on the look-out man giving notice of the fact everyone on deck was rushing about to try and get a sight of the stranger; hence the bustle and noise noticed by the Jew. “A sale! a sale!” says the child of Israel. “Mein gott, steward, vhy dont you got me a ‘kateelog’; de tings vhas all sold pefore I make me any monish.”
About breakfast time we were abreast of the Channel Rock lightship, and as we had some packages on board for them, the whistle was sounded and a boat manned by four men—one of whom was the possessor of, I think, the finest beard I ever saw on a man—put off from the lightship and was shortly alongside, the steamer being stopped for a few minutes to enable them to obtain their letters, papers, and goods, amongst the latter being a large bale of aboriginal blankets for the use of the blacks in the vicinity of Cape Melville, where they are still pretty numerous. How on earth the unfortunate beings condemned to pass their days on this lonely lightship manage to exist without losing their reason passes my comprehension altogether, for a more desolate-looking spot it would be hard to find on the face of the earth, viewed as we saw it from the deck of the Rockton, with the lightship anchored about three miles from the shore; a few ugly rocks just showing above the surface of the sea indicating the dangers of the channel; the mountains of rock piled together in most admired disorder, and almost bare of vegetation, in the background—the whole scene being one of such utter desolation that I could not help a feeling of pity arising in my breast for the poor devils, whose only intercourse with the outer world is limited to an interchange of a few words once a week with a passing steamer.
Some little time after passing the lightship, and when nearing the Flinders Group, a blackfellow’s canoe was descried in the distance, and as we drew nearer we could see that it contained four darkies, who were paddling with might and main trying to intercept us—no doubt for the purpose of begging food and tobacco, or any other articles which the charitably disposed might feel inclined to bestow upon them. Their canoe, which was fashioned out of a hollowed tree and fitted with an outrigger to prevent its capsizing, was making good headway under the frantic exertions of its dusky crew, being well away on the starboard bow; but as time was precious, our genial skipper did not care to slow down for the purpose of holding an interview, and we gradually drew abeam of them: but they struggled gamely on until we left them astern and they saw pursuit was hopeless, when, with a gesture of despair, they threw up the sponge and, squatting down in their frail bark, watched us steam away, regretting no doubt their hard luck at missing a breakfast and a smoke which had seemed almost within their grasp.
We shortly afterwards passed the Flinders Group, a most remarkable landmark on this route; and I was informed by Captain Leggett that splendid oysters of most delicious flavour can be obtained in almost any quantities just off the point of the most westerly of the islands, he having discovered them on a former voyage when commander of the Gunga. The sea is as calm as the proverbial mill pond, and we seem as though steaming along some broad and beautiful river, the points of the Great Barrier Reef showing plainly on our right, whilst on our left we have the mainland, in some places bold and well defined, and in others low and indistinct, from which at times dense columns of smoke are seen arising, denoting no doubt the presence of some of the wild tribes of blacks who still find a safe retreat in the recesses of Cape York peninsula.
We shortly come in sight of Claremont Island Lightship on the Northern side of Princess Charlotte Bay, where Captain Wilson, his wife, and assistants find a quiet retreat from the noise and bustle of the outside world; and here also we see a little daughter of Pilot Thompson’s, who is suffering from an affection of the brain, and has been recommended by a medical man thorough rest and quietness for a time; and no better place could have been selected, for certainly, to judge from appearances, nothing could ever occur here to jar the nerves of the most sensitive, whilst there is a little more variety than is apparent at that lonely Channel Rock, there being a beche-de-mer station visible on a low-lying coral island a short distance away to the eastward, with which doubtless the dwellers on the lightship keep up communication.
There are many low islands and patches of coral reef distinctly visible on either side as we steam along, rendering the utmost vigilance on the part of pilots and captain indispensable, but we have a relay of good men in Pilots Thompson and Keating and Captain Leggett; so we make good headway in spite of all obstructions; and shortly after leaving the Claremonts we meet the British India Steamer Catterthun bowling merrily along on her course southwards, with whom we exchange the courtesies usual at sea. We are evidently in tropical climes this morning, judging from the light and exceedingly airy costume in which one of the gentler sex appears on deck, causing quite a feeling of astonishment amongst the lady passengers who have not yet learnt to appreciate the coolness and luxury of a robe made of mosquito netting and fine linen, and a flutter of excitement amongst the male portion, who, like myself, believe that beauty unadorned is admired the most. But the Captain, like the good general he is, soon puts matters straight, and the excitement gradually subsides as we settle down listlessly to pass away the hours as best we may.
On Thursday morning, about eight o’clock, we enter the beautiful Albany Pass, certainly one of the most lovely spots on the whole coast of Australia, and nearly everyone is on deck to admire the lovely scene presented to their view.
There is a terrific tide rip at the entrance, the water fairly surging over some low-lying rocks on the port side, running down from a point of land covered in all directions with ant-hills of a beautiful red color, with which one lady seemed excessively charmed; and not being quite sure of what they consisted, asked another lady friend if that was the lovely red coral of which she had heard so much, but was unable to obtain any definite information on the subject; and I am still under the impression she retains the belief that some of the grandest coral ornaments in the world are to be obtained at that particular spot. The ever-changing views obtained as we steam through the Pass bring forth expressions of admiration and delight on every hand, culminating in one spontaneous burst as we round the point, which reveals a view of the old Government residence at Somerset, and now occupied by Mr. Frank Jardine, who has a large cattle station in this portion of the peninsula—the house being situated upon an eminence surrounded by dense tropical foliage, bringing out in strong relief the cleared ground in the midst of which the buildings are erected, whilst down on the beach are the boat and beche-de-mer sheds, with a neat little schooner and her attendant fleet of small boats lying peacefully at anchor—making, altogether, a picture long to be remembered.
At the northern end of the Albany Pass lies the Sextant Rock, so called from the circumstance of the great navigator, Captain Cook, having landed there to take observations; and as we draw near to Thursday Island, just before entering the Prince of Wales Channel, we see away to the north-east some few miles distant the wreck of the ship John-de-Costa, which ran aground on the North Torres Reef, a little over two years ago, whilst on her way from Melbourne to Calcutta with 150 head of horses on board for the Indian market.
There she lies nearly high and dry with a slight list to starboard, looking in the distance like a vessel at anchor, a grim monument to the dangerous navigation of these coral seas; and shortly after she was wrecked, whilst horses, stores, &c., were still on board, the lot was submitted to auction at Thursday Island, and bought by a syndicate of the residents in the immediate vicinity at the following figures: The vessel with all standing rigging was sold for £170; the horses and about 30 tons of fodder only realised £20; cabin stores, £20; deck stores, £20; and 125 iron tanks of 400 gallons each, £20.
All attempts to get the ship off the reef have proved futile, but about 100 of the horses were saved, being transhipped into small vessels belonging to some of the pearl-shellers, in lots of four and five at a time, and then landed at Thursday Island, from whence they were finally sent on to Normanton, the majority being conveyed by Captain Leggett in his various trips with the “Gunga,” so that the speculation on behalf of the syndicate must have turned out a very profitable venture. We steam round the northern end of Hammond Island and Hammond Rock, the latter looking like some immense boulder, round which the tide is rushing at the rate of a good five knots an hour; and here we catch the first glimpse of Goode Island and the lighthouse, with Friday Island looming in the distance; and shortly afterwards pass the Mecca Reef, so called from the fact of the steamer of that name having there become a total wreck.
It is matter for congratulation amongst us that we have come through safely, it being almost impossible to over-estimate the difficulties attending navigation through these dangerous and intricate channels, which necessitates a uniform rate of speed in order to keep a correct reckoning, so that great reliance has to be placed on the chief engineers of all steamers taking this route; the beacons placed here and there on the numerous sunken reefs with which the place abounds denoting plainly even to the most unpractised eye that the life of a captain in these waters is certainly not all beer and skittles; and excuses might be found for an accident in this locality which would be entirely wanting in more open navigation, as the reefs extend right across to the New Guinea coast, so that all vessels have to come pretty close to Goode island in order to get through the narrow channel of some half-mile in width which there exists, and which in the event of an invasion of our territory by a foreign power could be fortified at comparatively trifling expense, and render an attack from that direction almost impossible.
We steer round the northern end of Goode Island, obtaining a line view of the lighthouse and keeper’s quarters, romantically perched on the highest point of land in the island, having Friday and Prince of Wales Islands on the right, Goode and Hammond Islands on the left, with Horne Island in the background, Thursday Island lying dead ahead. Going through this passage we encounter a very strong tide, the buoys marking the passage being half submerged by the fierce rush of water, which reminds one very much of the current in a mighty river; but the Rockton is equal to the occasion, and our progress is certain, if not very rapid. There are several shelling stations in sight, and I was particularly struck with the beautiful situation of the one known as “Waiawea,” which is on a small island lying between Hammond and Goode Islands, and looks, with its grove of palms surrounding the residence, a veritable paradise on earth.
Fleets of shelling boats are lying at anchor at the various stations, whilst one small schooner, evidently making for the anchorage at Thursday Island, has had to drop anchor through not being able to make headway against the tide, and forms a very picturesque object, with her colored crew forward and the boss, evidently chewing the cud of reflection, seated near the stern. We entered the port by a different channel to that which I entered on a former occasion in the City of Melbourne, in consequence of the water being too shallow to admit a vessel of the Rockton’s draught coming through the nearer passage; but we rounded the point on which is situated the Government residential quarters and laid a course for the hulk Star of Peace, alongside which our Captain laid the Rockton in a thoroughly workmanlike manner, without any of the noise and fuss generally noticeable on such occasions.
We are soon boarded by Mr. Milman, the acting Government resident, in a smart water police boat, who shortly afterwards goes ashore, taking as passengers Messrs. Cribb and the parson who had come to settle down amongst the “Thirsty Islanders,” whilst several friends and myself are invited to take passage in the remarkably smart boat belonging to Messrs. Burns, Philp, and Co., manned by a colored crew of boys, dressed in a neat blue and white uniform, white caps with tortoiseshell peaks, and commanded by Mr. Bromley, the agent here for the great northern firm who monopolise the greater portion of the business done in this quarter of the globe. The colored population is very conspicuous, shore boats manned by Cingalese being an especial feature; and some howling swells are visible amongst the various crews, one joker in particular being especially remarkable for his flowing petticoats, tortoiseshell comb, bald head, and a few long locks of hair behind his ears and on the back of his neck.
Cingalese traders also come aboard with heaps of Brummagem stuff, dear at any price, and do their best to drive a bargain, but with very little success, the majority of our passengers having been there before, and had some little experience of these guileless colored gentlemen. We cast anchor at a few minutes past noon on Thursday, and as we had to discharge about 70 tons of cargo and take aboard 100 tons for Normanton, our skipper, who was anxious if possible to get away again that night in order to catch the tide on the Norman River bar on Saturday, tried his best to expedite matters; but he had to deal with a lot of colored wretches who had evidently been born tired, and consequently required a certain amount of rest, so that, strive as he would, the fates were against him, the loading and unloading process lasting well on to midnight, when it was too late to make a start, so that we had to remain where we were until daylight on Friday morning.
We had a commercial traveller aboard with a heap of samples who got fairly on the war-path because he was unable to induce Mr. Bromley to let him stow his luggage in Messrs Burns, Philp and Co.’s gig, a craft certainly never built for or intended to carry cargo, and never used for that purpose even by the firm themselves. Then he tried to induce Captain Leggett to place one of the ship’s boats and crew at his service, evidently wishing to get his goods ashore on the cheap, and not caring what delay or inconvenience might be caused to a whole ship’s company by the proceeding as long as he got his own turn served.
The Captain told him that as he was anxious to proceed on the voyage that night if possible, he could not spare the boat’s crew, but as there were plenty of shore boats available, why not engage one of them if very anxious to get his samples landed. But this did not suit the drummer’s book altogether, so he relieved his feelings by blackguarding everybody all round, and swearing vengeance on Bromley, Captain Leggett, and all concerned, but I noticed he took the shore boat at the finish, when he found it impossible to save the expense of the transaction. There are thousands of people like him in the world who care nothing for the loss and inconvenience their actions may cause to others as long as they can get their own turn served, and save expenses which are only fairly and legitimately incurred in the prosecution of their own business transactions. Going ashore at Thursday Island is a bit of a pic-nic, especially for ladies, there being no wharf to land at, and as the water is very shallow for some distance from the shore, boats are unable to come right in, consequently, passengers have to be conveyed from the boats to the beach on the backs of the colored boys who compose the crews—so that a heavy weight on a light built boy stands a fair “six to four” chance of coming to grief, and carrying more water ashore in his clothes than he bargained for.
There are some very nice buildings and residences visible from the beach, the Queensland National Bank and the private residence of Messrs. Burns, Philp and Co.’s manager shewing out prominently; there are also two hotels, which are very fairly conducted and look extremely cool and comfortable, but I can hardly understand why customers have to pay a shilling for a drink, as they surely ought to be able to land liquors as cheaply here as they can in Normanton, where the price is only sixpence. We had a stroll round the place, but it does not take long to encircle the settlement, and I was more interested in a visit paid to Messrs. Burns, Philp and Co.’s Stores under the guidance of Captain Pearson, an old resident of this locality, than with anything else I saw upon the Island. The front store abounds with supplies of every description required in the Island trade—a large business being now done with the natives of New Guinea, whose curios and implements of warfare form a conspicuous and very interesting exhibit, the Company having a large stock of them for sale.
In the back stores they showed us tons of pearl shell, some of which, recently discovered in a patch off the coast of New Guinea, was of excellent quality, several specimens of the golden-lipped variety that were submitted for our inspection being something magnificent in size and appearance; whilst ranged in bags round the walls were the different species of beche-de-mer, first and foremost being the teat fish, which realises a high figure in the Chinese market, it being esteemed by the disciples of Confucius as one of the rarest of delicacies when served at table in the form of soup.
Having fairly explored the settlement, which certainly is one of the most picturesque and interesting spots on the eastern coast of Australia, and has a resident population of about four hundred souls, embracing, of course, the islands in the vicinity, as well as a floating population of about twelve hundred, comprising whites, blacks, Malays, Lascars, Coolies and Chinese, we signal the boat, in order to return to the ship, and on our way witness a rather novel sight.
A number of fat bullocks had been shipped at Townsville on board the Rockton to the order of the only butcher at Thursday Island, and as the ship was as previously described, lying at some distance from the shore, it proved a matter of some little difficulty and danger to land the stock without running the risk of loss by drowning; so to minimise the risk as far as possible, the following plan was adopted:
A rope with running noose at one end was first placed round the horns of each bullock as they stood in their stalls on deck, when the slings were placed under them, and one at a time they were hoisted into mid-air, and then gradually and gently lowered into the water alongside the ship, where boats were lying in readiness to take them in charge, in order to tow them ashore. The ropes round the horns were grasped and secured to a ring in the stern of the boat, whilst two stout rowers pulled with might and main towards the shallow landing, the butcher, or one of his assistants, being seated in the stern of the boat to steer and watch that the cattle did not come to grief on the journey.
Thus, partly swimming and partly towing, slow progress was made, until eventually the cattle struck the sandy beach—when the fun commenced—as, finding they had foothold and something to charge at, they madly plunged at the boat, necessitating the exercise of considerable skill on the part of the boatmen in keeping out of harm’s way; but what with the confinement on board ship and the resistance offered by the water, the poor animals were soon exhausted, and seeing a few green bushes and some tempting green grass at the edge of the water, they slowly made their way ashore, and under the welcome shade of the trees, stood ruminating, no doubt upon their novel experiences of the last twenty-four hours.
On board again once more, where all is hurry and bustle in order to save the tide, Captain Leggett being anxious to get through the passage that night if possible, and in the meantime we are favoured by numerous visitors from ashore and afloat, if I may use the term, “everybody who is anybody,” making it a point to avail themselves of the hospitality of our worthy skipper whenever he drops his kellick in these waters—to say nothing of the opportunity afforded to these convivial and thirsty souls of “interviewing the alligator” at the, to them, moderate charge of sixpence, when compared to their own island tariff of a “robert.” We had the brave Baron Wilkins, the bold commander of the “Von der Sluyt,” as grand a hulk as ever stored a cargo of coal, accompanied and supported by a true specimen of the British Tar, in the person of Captain Williams, of the equally celebrated clipper “The Star of Peace,” now, alas, also condemned to the ignoble but useful role of storing coal and cargo for the ships of the A.U.S.N. Co.
