‘“Dear Sir,
‘“I have read my back issues, and I trust you will not feel annoyed if your children should suddenly become orphans.
‘“Yours truly,
‘“J. G. Boosey.”
‘I never replied.’
Next morning was Sunday. After presenting letters of introduction to one or two influential residents, I and Dodd strolled about the town. The streets are wide, with here and there a number of good shops. ‘The Mechanics,’ which includes a school of mines, is a fine building. ‘The Mechanics,’ the chief feature in which is a reading-room, is an institution to be found in most colonial towns.
The chief street in Sandhurst is called Pall Mall. Right in the middle of it there are the poppet-heads of a gold mine. When coal has been discovered under London, there may possibly be a coal mine in the original Pall Mall. I saw a lake in the domain and also a fernery. Ferneries are not uncommon in this part of the world. They consist of a collection of rockeries covered with tree-ferns, beneath the fronds of which there is a maze-like arrangement of damp paths. The only objection to these artificial groupings of natural objects is, that after having once entered them, you are afraid that it will be difficult to find your way out. It being Sunday, all was very quiet. In the afternoon the quietness was disturbed by the howlings of a Salvationists’ procession.
It started from a large building called the Salvation Army Barracks, in front of the hotel. At the head of the procession there was a man bearing a red banner, on which was written ‘Blood and Fire.’ Next came the band dressed in a militia-like uniform, each man with the name of his religion labelled on his cap. Behind these came a great number of women in coal-scuttle-shaped bonnets and blue dresses. They were labelled like the men. These uniforms can be purchased at the Salvation Army stores. Behind all there came the riffraff of the town. Mixed up with the front part of the regiment were a number of young men also in uniform, who pivoted and pranced about as if imitating David. They led the procession. To encourage people to join them, the prancers flicked their pocket-handkerchiefs as if beckoning. It was very interesting, and more especially so as it was accompanied by lively music. I met with Salvationists, their barracks, their stores, and their provisions throughout the colony.
The Salvation Army publishes an organ called the War Cry, which circulates in many parts of the colonies. The only one I saw was chiefly filled with reports as to the progress of regiments in different districts. Parts of the reports—but for the spirit in which we suppose they are put forward—sound like blasphemy, and I refrain from quoting them. The bulk of them contain numerous ejaculations about Hallelujah and Salvation, and are filled with contradictory statements. Much relating to the firing of guns is incomprehensible.
Here are a few specimens of War Cry literature, taken at random from a copy picked up on an hotel table:—
‘Captain Perry reports from Nelson that one dear man had walked 800 miles to gain salvation. The barracks were packed. Great conviction; but they went away blinded by the devil’s delusive plaister—“Not to night.” Lord save them is our prayer. Hallelujah! Cry going up. Look out, Sydenham! we’re going to flog you! Will do it, too!’
‘Auckland reports that the Marshal held the people spell-bound, and accompanied the singing with the piano. £13 4s. collected. Hallelujah!’
‘At Lyttelton, one sailor who had been tossing about the ocean of life, took passage in the Gospel Ship, and shipped right through viâ Calvary, and all the people said, Amen.’
One article was devoted to a threatened invasion of China.
‘In six weeks the first contingent was to be stationed at one of the protected ports, Hong-kong, Canton, or Shanghai.’ ‘We shall dress like Chinese,’ said Marshal Booth; ‘take Chinese food, and try to come down to the level of the Chinese themselves.’
While I was in New Zealand a Maori army was being organized. In Canterbury I saw an Army store. Here, works by General and Mrs. Booth can be purchased. One, by Major Corbridge, is entitled ‘Up-Line to Heaven, Down-Line to Hell.’ Soldiers’ cards, pray-cards, roll-books, and cartridges are also sold. I suppose the latter, which cost ten shillings a thousand, are tracts.
At the outfit department you can buy regulation shields, uniforms, army pocket-knives containing photos of General and Mrs. Booth, sisters’ jerseys, badges, sergeants’ bannerettes. The Salvation Army are certainly a powerful body amongst the lower classes in the colonies. One officer describes his colleagues as ‘Hallelujah gutter-snipes, and ragpickers on the muck-heap of sin.’ They work amongst those who find ordinary churches too genteel. It is to be hoped that they are doing good.
Dodd and I had several good walks and drives about Sandhurst. One was to Eaglehawk, which is a large mining district. In fact, the whole district from Sandhurst to Eaglehawk, and, for that matter, for miles beyond, is covered with poppet-heads. These poppet-heads, which indicate shafts, extend in lines over an undulating country. From the length of any of these lines, you can roughly estimate the length of the lodes or reefs which are being worked. Like Charters Towers, the reefs are of quartz; but, instead of being in a granitic rock, they intersect or run through the traditional slate. The distance to Eaglehawk was four miles, and on the road we counted sixty-four public-houses, and ten places of worship: that is to say, the reconverters were to the converters in the ratio of six to one. This reminds one of the way in which whisky and water is sometimes mixed.
During the evening Dodd and I made several attempts to gain an entrance to the Salvationist barracks. It was always too crowded. We heard that the Salvationists had become so popular, that other sects, in order to draw an audience, had been compelled to adopt similar tactics, and brass bands had been started at several chapels.
Next day we spent our time in visiting mines and stamping mills. One mine we visited was lighted by electricity. It was a very nice dry mine for a visitor, but as it only yielded four or five pennyweights of gold to the ton of quartz, it paid but small dividends to its shareholders. Some of the mills we visited were very swagger. They had tree-ferns growing in the engine-rooms, and everything was clean and neat. Those who managed the mills and mines were exceedingly courteous, and told us all that we wished to know.
During the afternoon we saw a crowd in the middle of Pall Mall, and thinking it was a row going on, we walked towards it. It proved to be the brokers of the mining exchange doing their business in the street. This is common at other towns in Victoria.
The next town was Ballarat. The country about was hilly. In the distance several prominent hills were, I was told, old volcanoes. Originally this was the great centre for washing gold out of the alluvium. The deposits of alluvium consist of pebbles and sand, which at one time formed the bed of a river. These deposits are called leads. At first it was thought that the leads were only on the surface of the ground, just as modern river-beds are on the surface. Exploration, however, proved that there were ancient river-beds which had been buried by flows of lava, forming what is called bluestone. This led to deep alluvium mining. In sinking downwards, the miner would pass through successive layers of gravels, clays, and bluestone, until he reached the upturned ends of the slate. The slate is the oldest rock, and over the surface of this rivers ran, depositing their gravels in the hollows. Then during periods of volcanic activity, the gravel was buried by bluestone. During a period of repose, rivers flowed over the bluestone, and there deposited fresh gravels; and so the processes of nature continued, sometimes laying down a layer of gravel, and sometimes one of bluestone. The whole arrangement is like a plate of sandwiches. The plate being the slates, the bread the gravels, and the ham the bluestone. The gold is in the gravels, and it probably came there by the wearing away of the upper part of quartz lodes, cropping out on the surface of the country over which the rivers ran. It is probable that by the action of solvents percolating through these gravels, the original character of the gold has been altered. It may have been made purer, and it may, during processes of preparation, have been collected together to form large nuggets.
At all events the gold from alluvial washings is usually purer than the gold from quartz reefs; and further, it is only in the alluvial deposits that large nuggets have been discovered.
At Ballarat the alluvial deposits have been exhausted, and only reef mining is to be seen. To see workings in deep leads, we had to take train to Creswick, and from there a buggy out into the country. On account of the softness and the water contained in the deep gravels, peculiar systems have to be adopted for their extraction. The shaft is sunk through the deposit to be worked down to a hard bed, and a tunnel is driven in the hard bed beneath the soft deposit as far as the limit of the property. From this tunnel vertical holes, or ‘jump-ups,’ are made upwards into the soft gravels, which are then taken out in blocks. As these are removed the roof is allowed to fall in. On the surface the gravel is put into a circular iron tank or buddle in which there are revolving forks. Here it is washed with water, and the big stones thrown away. The clear gravel is then drawn off into long troughs or sluices, down which water is flowing. On the bottom of the trough there are small ledges of wood or iron, behind which the gold collects, while the lighter gravel is washed away. The country round Creswick is gently undulating, with here and there a few conical hills—probably old volcanoes.
On our return to Ballarat we had a good look at the town. The streets are remarkable for their width. On a windy day you might hesitate before you crossed them. At the School of Mines we visited a museum. The school itself was in an old court-house. The condemned cell had been converted into a room for a professor. The museum was next door, in a church which has been bought. It is not an uncommon thing to put churches up for auction in the colonies.
Before I say good-bye to Melbourne, I must tell a story which I heard about the Yarra, or rather about a man who lived on the banks of that charming little river. It is called:
EARLY DAYS IN MELBOURNE; OR, CAPTAIN STRINGER AND THE WATERS OF JOGGA WOGGA.
Old Captain Stringer came here in ’54, and, like a lot of skippers who came to Melbourne about that time, was ruined. No sooner had he dropped anchor than all the crew, even to the little cabin-boy, made for shore, bought a swag, and started off for Bendigo. The gold fever was on everybody, and even £20 a month was not sufficient to keep a sailor on board his ship. At first Stringer took the matter philosophically, and was always saying that by-and-by they would be able to get hands on board for asking. Jack would find that gold-washing and hard tucker wasn’t exactly Paradise, and very shortly we should see him coming back to Melbourne like a Prodigal Son. Every day saw new ships in port, and rushes of new chums off on the road towards Bendigo. Stringer, like many of the skippers, was part owner of the vessel he commanded, and this, no doubt, was an inducement for him to stay on board. Those who had no share in their vessels used to wait a month or two trying to get a crew. After this they would pack up a swag, leave the ship to take care of itself, and start off, as they said, in search of men.
In six months Port Phillip, which used at that time to reach nearly up to Flinders Street, was one dense mass of helpless shipping. It was ships, ships, ships, as far as the eye could see, and, what was worse, the number was daily increasing. Many skippers tried to sell their ships, but buyers were not to be found. Many people thought themselves lucky if they could find anyone willing to receive a ship as a present. To be relieved of the responsibility of having a ship to look after seemed to ease their minds. A good number, rather than give their ships away, relieved themselves of the responsibility of ownership by scuttling their property. They were not going to let people have their belongings for nothing.
It wasn’t long before the blocking up of the river and harbour with floating and sunken vessels began to have an effect by causing silt to deposit; and, to make a long story short, after the floods of 1855, if there were one ship ashore there must have been at least 5,000 of them, and Captain Stringer’s was amongst the lot. In the following year the Government had a new channel cleared out for the river and the land where the ships were became a marsh. One or two who had their ships in a dry place where grass had begun to grow, clubbed together and started a farm, using their ships as dwelling-houses and stables. Things were pretty expensive in those days. Land down where Flinders Street now is was worth £150 to £200 a foot; and as for dwelling-houses, you could not get a weather-boarded cottage under £500 a year. The climate, too, was more trying than it is at present. Every other day we used to get those hot north winds called brickfielders. When these were blowing it was like standing in a baker’s oven, and the dust was so thick that you could not put your nose outside the door. What with losing his ship, and the effects of rum so long as it lasted, old Stringer seemed to be dreadfully upset. Still, he kept up a certain kind of style, and wanted us to believe that he was well off. When we called on board his boat he would always produce something or other which he said he had specially ordered from London. Once it was some cigars. He said they had cost him two-and-sixpence apiece. The duty he paid on them was very heavy. But anyhow, they were the best Havanas ever made—in fact, part of a parcel expressly manufactured for the King of Hanover, and he hoped we should like them. Of course, we all knew that Stringer couldn’t afford two-and-sixpenny cigars, and what he had so much to say about were only penny cheroots. All that we could conclude was that Stringer was proud, and just to humour the old man we told him that the cigars were the best ever seen in the colony. Another trick he had was to go about with a few coppers and some keys in his pocket, jingling as if he were carrying the mint. One thing which he never forgot was every now and again to jerk out his pocket-handkerchief, and with it a roll of paper that looked like bank-notes. ‘Dear me, I shall lose that money yet,’ he would remark, as he stooped to pick up the roll. At first we thought that they were real notes, but after picking them up once or twice when Stringer had jerked them a little too far, we saw then that it was only a roll of tissue-paper. Sometimes, if he knew that anyone was walking close behind him, he would drop the roll on purpose for them to pick it up. All that he wanted was for us to tell him that he ought not to be so careless with such large sums of money. This would start him off about his ancestors, who had so much wealth that an instinctive indifference and carelessness for money had gradually been bred in the family. He could no more help dropping rolls of bank-notes in the street than he could help breathing. At last it was generally recognised that Stringer was mad, the particular form of his madness being an inordinate desire to be thought a millionaire. This was coupled with such an absurd amount of pride that, although he was really as poor as a church mouse, and at times on the verge of starvation, he would never receive a present. The only way we could keep him alive was to leave things at his ship whenever we knew he was absent: one man would leave him a sack of flour, another a barrel of pork, a third some tea, and in this way we managed to keep the old man going.
Many of us had an idea that Stringer’s madness would gradually wear away, but instead of that it seemed to get worse. He took to dressing in a queer way, putting on a red waistcoat with brass buttons, and a white hat. It wasn’t long before everyone in Melbourne knew old Stringer as well as they knew Collins Street. Another way in which he made himself conspicuous was by writing letters to the papers about his ancestors, and putting in advertisements about rolls of bank-notes which had accidentally slipped out of his pocket. Some of his compositions were so peculiar that they were reproduced in the country papers, and in a short time mad Stringer threatened to become as well known an Australian institution as Melbourne itself.
Suddenly it was observed that Stringer had a slight limp, and this was followed by a hacking little cough. He told us it was living on the marsh—he had rheumatics, and was suffering from malaria. As weeks went on, the limp got worse and worse, and the case of poor old Stringer excited considerable sympathy. Even the newspapers took notice of the old man’s sufferings. One or two doctors who went down to see him said that his rheumatism was very acute; he was as mad as a hatter, and he ought to be compelled to leave the marsh.
While we were discussing how old Stringer was to be got out of his ship on the marsh, it was reported that he had disappeared. This was of course another fact for the newspapers. Two weeks later a letter came from Stringer, saying that he was trying some springs which had been recommended to him as good for rheumatics. His health had not been good, and he thought a course of waters would perhaps be beneficial.
A month later a note appeared in the Argus, giving an account of a marvellous cure which had been effected upon a well-known resident in Melbourne, by the natural waters of Jogga Wogga. The details which were given clearly pointed to Stringer as the patient on whom the wonderful cure had been effected. The news quickly spread throughout the colony. Thinking it would please the Captain’s pride to see himself in print, we sent him up copies of the paper. In a few days we received a long letter in reply, saying how pleased he was that we had not forgotten him. The account in the Argus was quite correct, and not only had he been cured (and he here gave evidence that he was aware that he had been suffering, not only from rheumatics and malaria, but also from a brain disease), but that a large number of other people had derived considerable benefit from the springs. There were several distinct sources. Some of it, he said, was pure and pleasant to the palate, whilst the waters of other springs were somewhat nauseous. One man had been cured of sore eyes; another had had an impediment in his speech removed; a third had got rid of chronic headaches with which he had been affected; while he himself had been cured of rheumatism, low fever, and madness. Shortly after this a letter appeared in the papers confirming what Stringer had written, and the fame of the Jogga Wogga springs got noised throughout Australia.
Later on Stringer came back looking quite respectable and well. The change which the waters had made in the old man was truly marvellous. He told several of us that he was so certain about the efficacy of the Jogga Wogga waters, that he had taken out a claim for Jogga Wogga district. If we would assist him, he intended to set up a factory for the bottling of the Jogga Wogga waters, in which he clearly believed that there was a lot of honest money to be made. It was certain that the waters had already been well advertised, and that they worked marvellous cures. All that remained to be done was to bottle the waters ready for customers.
In less than a month, with the help of a few hundreds which he borrowed from us, Captain Stringer had started a bottling establishment on the lower part of the Yarra. He must have a wharf for the purpose of loading steamers. He would have had the establishment at Jogga Wogga itself, but he showed it was cheaper to send the waters down in casks rather than to send bottles up to Jogga Wogga, and then cart them back again. Of course he issued cards, circulars, prospectuses, put advertisements in all the newspapers, and did what was necessary and proper to bring the Jogga Wogga waters to the notice of the health-seeking public. One of his circulars contained testimonials from bishops and doctors who had known Stringer before his illness. These were backed by letters and articles from various newspapers.
The waters he sold were of three kinds. No. 1 was described as slightly acid, containing a fine precipitate of yellow flocculent sulphur, and a small percentage of sulphuretted hydrogen. It was strongly recommended in all cases of skin disease, and to patients who were dyspeptic or suffering from an attack of bile. For locomotor ataxy it was infallible, and failing appetites were speedily cured. Acidity, giddiness, headache, drowsiness, and spasms of all descriptions might readily be cured by a hot bath made from these waters. Small bottles, 2s. 6d. Large bottles for family use, containing one imperial quart, 5s.
No. 2 was described as an alkaline water, which rendered the cuticle so soft and pliable that it might be called the beautifier. For gout, rheumatic arthritis, forms of myalgia like lumbago, chronic rheumatism, relaxation of anchylosed joints and psoriasis, it was unequalled. Short dry coughs, singing in the ears, vitiated tastes, might be removed by taking a dose of this water three times a day. Price 3s. a pint. A large bottle for family use, containing an imperial quart, 7s. 6d.
No. 3 was described as somewhat saline, exceedingly beneficial when applied either externally or internally. As an alterative in tubercular diseases and in cases of nervous affections, it was unequalled. It was particularly recommended to residents in the East, and to all who indulge in the luxuries of the table; a wineglassful taken after every meal would arrest the progress of the most virulent disease. Price 10s. per small bottle. A large bottle suitable for family uses, containing an imperial quart, one guinea.
In the colonies the sale was enormous; in fact, the orders poured in so rapidly, that Stringer said he was obliged to decline orders from people living near him. He would supply them later on. In a few months orders were received from abroad, and great steamers sailed from Port Phillip loaded with cases of the Jogga Wogga waters. Now and then barge-loads of barrels would be seen toiling up the Yarra on their way towards the Jogga Wogga springs.
For two years the trade had so increased, that poor old Stringer, as we used to call him, was in a fair way to become a millionaire. About this time, however, it began to be whispered about that there was some sort of trickery going on at Stringer’s establishment; the waters were not of the same quality as at first. One man wrote to the papers, saying that the Jogga Wogga waters, instead of curing him, had made him vomit to such at extent that he had to remain in bed for a week. One or two others addressed letters to the bishops and doctors, to know if their testimonials about the Jogga Wogga waters were genuine. Of course they replied that as the Jogga Wogga waters had cured Captain Stringer of rheumatism, low fever, and lunacy, they must be good. While all this was going on, old Stringer was raking in the pounds hand over hand.
A crusher appeared at last. A gentleman, who signed himself John Burdett, M.D., said that as three of his patients who had been in the habit of taking the Jogga Wogga stimulant had suddenly died, while many others had been seriously ill, he had been led to make a close examination of these celebrated waters.
Although he had made numerous inquiries respecting the Jogga Wogga springs, he had failed to discover their existence. In fact, he was of opinion that Jogga Wogga had no existence. After careful analyses of the waters, he concluded that the quantity of organic matter which the so-called Jogga Wogga water contained, rendered it highly improbable that it was not of subterranean origin.
The general character of the water was not unlike that of some slowly flowing, muddy stream.
No. 1 Jogga Wogga water, described as slightly acidic and containing a fine precipitate of sulphur and a small percentage of sulphuretted hydrogen, was strikingly similar to the water in the Yarra, at the point below the bridge where the waters from the gas-works mix with those of the adjoining tannery.
No. 2 Jogga Wogga water, described as an alkaline solution which rendered the cuticle soft and pliable, was identical with water taken from the Yarra below the tallow factory, or near to the second soap-boilers.
No. 3 Jogga Wogga water, described as saline, Dr. Burdett said he was uncertain about. It might be from certain parts of the Yarra, or it might be from the tide-way opposite Captain Stringer’s wharf.
In conclusion, he publicly challenged Captain Stringer to indicate the position of the Jogga Wogga springs, offering to pay £1,000 if such springs could be proved to have an existence.
The reply to the attack appeared next morning. It was dated
‘Melbourne Heads, S. S. Hooker.
‘My dear Dr. Burdett,
‘You are quite right, and as you have discovered the true source of the Jogga Wogga waters, you are perfectly free to carry on my business during my absence in America. I may not return for some time.
‘Yours affectionately,
‘Captain Stringer.’
We returned to Melbourne by rail. For some distance after leaving Ballarat the country was hilly, but after that it was flat—dead flat. It looked like a placid green ocean. Once it had perhaps been a fiery ocean of lava, which, by the processes of time, had been smoothed over to an even surface. Crossing the plains, you saw long lines of wire fencing getting lower and lower until they vanished as a black line in the direction of the horizon. What opportunities to study space of two dimensions! What cricket grounds! All the teams in the world might play upon these plains and not one would know of the existence of his neighbours. I suppose the flatness of Australia has had much to do with their success at cricket. Every boy could play. An exactly similar argument will apply to their success at rowing. The numerous and magnificent rivers which traverse the Australian continent in all directions—no, that’s wrong. They have no rivers. They took to rowing out of perversity.