6th.—Reading Punch all morning. In the afternoon made a damper, baked it, and eat it in company with the others. "Pit a cake, pat a cake, baker's man!" etc.
16th.—Dressing sheep all day with mercurial ointment. Wish this job was over. Dreadful work bending one's back all day, and rooting amongst the wool for the diseased places.
18th.—Went out with the dogs, and killed two kangaroos. It rained tremendously all the time, and I wish the kangaroos at the——. The natives happened to be hunting in a large party, driving the game before them; and as I stood in the midst of a large plain which they had surrounded on three sides, multitudes of kangaroos—I believe I might say thousands—of all sizes, came rushing past me. The dogs were quite bewildered, and remained at my side aghast; and it was several minutes before they recovered themselves enough to give chase. The natives took no notice of me. In the evening fifty of them came about the hut. We took care to show our guns, and I shot a green parrot, sixty yards off, just to show them what we could do. They were quite peaceable, and danced a corrobery at night.
20th.—I dressed twenty-five sheep this morning myself. In the afternoon William came from York with six hundred more sheep (mine among them), which were found to be scabby. More work! This is really too bad, thrusting all this cursed business upon me. He had been four days coming, and had not lost a single sheep.
21st.—Went out kangarooing, quite disgusted. Wandered a long distance, and had to carry a large buck several miles. Could scarcely find my way back, but at length got home (!!) quite knocked up, and more and more disgusted with human nature and every thing.
22d.—The Doctor is enjoying himself at York, and E. lives on the fat of the land at Perth, whilst I have never tasted anything but salt pork and kangaroo for many months, and have nothing to drink but tea. I have almost forgotten the taste of a potato. We have nothing here but kangaroo and pork, and unleavened bread, called damper. I wish I could exchange our bill of fare occasionally with that French fellow who complained of having "toujours perdrix." He would be the loser, I take it. I could eat even perdrix aux choux—a villanous dish formerly—but we have no more cabbages than partridges to thank God for. I have long been obliged to leave off saying "grace after meat;" it really became an impious mockery, and was also impolitic and uneconomical, as my stomach used to turn against it. I consulted John this morning about killing a sheep, as none of them seemed inclined to die naturally. John caught at the idea with great quickness. He really is an intelligent fellow; and both he and the other poor devils are so patient and unrepining, that the Doctor is little better than a beast not to order them some mutton occasionally. I consider it absolutely necessary for their health. We fixed upon one of E.'s sheep, as it looked the fattest; and he being the richest, and never coming himself to look at his flock, will not care about a few sheep more or less. I'd kill one of my own, but they are such a seedy lot. No one is answerable for the murder of this sheep but myself, as I hereby confess that I killed it with my own hand, and afterwards held a coroner's inquest on the body, directing a verdict of "Visitation of Providence" to be recorded in the accounts relating to the flock. We had the liver for supper. Excellent! never tasted anything half so good.
23d.—Dined on sheep's head and trotters. (Tea to drink, toujours.)
24th.—Saddle of mutton.
25th.—Leg.
26th.—Shoulder.
27th.—Leg.
28th.—Shoulder.
29th.—Finished the sheep, and polished the bones.
[The rest of the Journal runs on much in the same way. This specimen will probably be enough for the reader.]
CHAPTER 22.
PELICAN SHOOTING.—GALES.—WRESTLING WITH DEATH.
The large estuary of the Swan affords ample scope for boating or sailing in small pleasure-yachts.
Perth water, on the northern bank of which the capital is built, extends from two to three miles in length, and about the same distance in its broadest part, its form being that of a half moon. It is connected with Melville water by an opening of a quarter of a mile across. Melville water is some six miles long, and from three to four broad; a splendid bay, called Freshwater Bay, developes itself at the western extremity of this fine sheet of water; and the river, or estuary, here makes a turn at right angles, and pursues its course towards the sea between high precipitous rocks of marine limestone, which are from six to seven hundred yards apart.
My pleasure-boat has enabled me to pass many agreeable hours upon this estuary.
At first, especially, it was exceedingly pleasant to make expeditions for the purpose of exploring the different bays and inlets, which abounded with ducks, swans, and pelicans.
My youngest brother and myself would frequently rise at a good hour, and having supplied our little vessel with a stock of provisions, and a few bottles of ale or other drinkables, hoist the sails, and bear away upon a cruise. The warm dry air, tempered by the sea-breeze, made boating exceedingly pleasant; and as we often touched at gardens situated at the mouth of the Canning, or on the shores of Melville water, and procured a basket of grapes, or peaches and melons, we managed to lunch luxuriously, having first cast anchor and bathed.
Many readers must have felt the excitement experienced by young sportsmen when they have the luck to fall in with some bird or animal not previously known to them. Every one remembers the delight with which, when a boy, he shot his first wood-pigeon, or lay in ambush behind a hedge for an old crow.
When first we beheld a group of huge tall birds, standing lazily in the sunshine upon a sand-spit which ran far into Melville water, we could scarcely believe our eyes that these were really live pelicans; and it was not only with intense interest, but with feelings of self-reproach, that we drew nigh with hostile intentions to birds which in the days of our boyhood, when visiting Mr. Wombwell's menagerie, had filled us with awe and reverence, as creatures that were wont to evince the depth of parental devotion by feeding their young with their own blood.
Our first overt act of hostility against the pelicans was unsuccessful. The sea-breeze was blowing strong, and we had to beat out against it close-hauled; just as we made the last board, and were bearing down upon the enemy, the huge, heavy birds, awakening from the siesta "with a start," raised their heads and looked about them. Then the foremost began to flap his long wings, and lift himself on tip-toe, whilst the others followed his example; and soon they were all heavily skimming along the surface of the water, trying to launch themselves fairly into the upward air; and having at length succeeded, they rose higher and higher in wide gyrations. The leader seemed resolved to hide himself in the distant blue of the cloudless heavens; and upward—up, up, up—they continued to mount, going round, and round, and round, in lessening circles—whilst the spectator gazed in wonder at the slowly diminishing specks, that were almost lost in ether; and at length, moving slowly towards the east —the unknown, mysterious wilderness—they altogether faded away. We have heard of eagles soaring into the sun, but I doubt whether even they could soar much higher, or look much grander, than the noble pelican of the desert.
The sheets were eased off, the long boom of the graceful sliding-gunter (a kind of latteen) sail, stretched far over the gun-wale of the boat, which slipped along easily and rapidly through the water, the rolling waves heaving up her stern, and sending her forward with a gentle impulse. We were opening the broad mouth of the Canning, when Meliboeus pointed out two other pelicans fishing in-shore on the lee-bow. Gently we edged away towards them; Meliboeus standing before the mast with his double-barrel ready, and motioning to me how to steer, as the main-sail hid the birds from my view.
They perceived us, and began to swim along shore at a rapid rate; the water was shoaling fast, and we greatly feared they would escape, but still we held on. The majestic birds rose slowly from the water, one following the other, and made towards the Canning. "I'll let fly at them" cried Meliboeus, in an intense whisper, "luff up!— hard-a-lee!" The helm was jammed down, and the sheet hauled in; the boat luffed into the wind, and became stationary, only bobbing upon the waves, whilst her sails shivered and rattled in the breeze. Meliboeus fired—and the hindmost bird declined gradually towards the water; its long wings became fixed and motionless at their widest stretch, and slowly it sank down upon its heaving death-bed. Loud shouted the sportsman; and momentary envy filled the heart of him who steered.
Away goes the boat before the freshening breeze, and soon it dashes past the body of the pelican, which is seized by the ready Meliboeus, and with great difficulty hauled on board. A shot had penetrated to its brain and killed it instantaneously. The wind up the Canning was nearly abeam, and we dashed through the deep and narrow passage called Hell's Gates, and held on till we came to the foot of a steep and rounded hill, Mount Henry. The river here turns at right angles, sweeping round the base of the hill, and leaving a broad and deep bay called Bull's Creek, to the southward. This is a famous spot for ducks and swans, and many a pleasant bivouac have I formed near it, waiting for early morn when the birds are busy feeding. As we rounded Mount Henry, we observed a large slate-coloured bird lazily flying across the river ahead of us. The Canning is here about four hundred yards broad, widening occasionally to a quarter of a mile. The wind was now right aft, and we soon came upon the line of the bird, which appeared to be a crested crane. The boom was topped-up in a moment, the jib-sheet let fly, and the boat's nose ran crashing through the sedges which in this part fringed the bank. The crane had alighted on the very summit of a straight and lofty tree, and there she sat, unconscious of the danger at hand.
Too much excited to care for any obstacles, and with eyes ever fixed upon the game, I tore my way through brambles, thickets, water and mud, until with no little difficulty I arrived at ground free from underwood. The bird was still sitting patiently on her lofty perch, and my heart beat anxiously with hope that I should be able to creep within shot. What a moment of interest! It is still vivid in the memory, with all its doubts and fears and wildly-beating hopes. The crane seemed preparing to fly. Death! I felt nearly distracted with apprehension. The interest and excitement became intense. I crept from tree to tree, and whenever I thought I was observed, stood motionless. My eye-balls became dry and hard with incessant gazing. I feared to wink lest she should be gone. She extended her wings! I bounded forward. She was just off, and barely within reach, as I fired; a single number two shot struck her pinion, and down she tumbled to the ground with a glorious wallop.
A loud shout from Meliboeus, who had sat in the boat scarcely daring to breathe, proclaimed the presence of a witness to my triumph.
Since then I have shot cranes without emotion or much feeling of interest.
Boating, as an amusement, ought only to be followed during the summer months, from the 1st of October to the 1st of April. In the winter season there are extremely violent gales of wind from the north-west, that sometimes last for three days together. Their arrival is generally foretold by the rapid falling of the barometer; and at Perth it is almost always preceded by the rising of the estuary. A singular storm visited the district of Australind in the night of the 17th June, 1842. It crossed the Leschenault estuary, and entered the forest, making a lane through the trees from three to four hundred yards wide. In this lane, which extended for many miles, nothing was left standing but the stumps of trees; whilst the trees on either wide of the land stood up like a wall and were perfectly uninjured. The storm in its course, which was in a direct line from N.W. to S.E. levelled the trees in the valleys as well as those on the hills. Its effects were not like those of a whirlwind, when trees appear twisted round, and scattered in every direction; in this lane the young healthy trees, which were generally broken off about two or three yards from the ground, all lay in the same direction.
Twice have I nearly paid dearly for my rashness in boating. My boat was once capsized in a moment in a squall, and Hannibal and myself were soused in the water before we knew what had happened. I caught hold of the bilge of the boat, and nearly drowned myself with laughing at the Son of Amilcar, who was splashing about shrieking with terror, and swallowing quarts of salt-water, as his open mouth popped every moment under a wave. In vain I called to him to come to me, and lay hold of the boat; he could neither see nor hear, and would have soon joined his illustrious namesake in the Elysian fields, had I not managed to throw the bight of a rope round his neck, and towed him within reach, when I held him up by the collar of his jacket (ducking him under water occasionally to make him cease from howling) until we were rescued by a fishing-boat.
One day, the 11th April, 1843, feeling disposed to take my book on the water and enjoy the calm air, I embarked by myself—a most unusual occurrence, as I scarcely ever went out alone. What little wind there was blew down the estuary, but only gently ruffled the waters; and my boat glided noiselessly before it. A couple of hours took me to the farther extremity of Melville water, and here it fell calm. I now began to feel uncomfortable, for the air was close, and dark clouds appeared rising in the north-west. The wind began to blow in gusts; a sudden puff, curling the waters, would strike the boat and make her heel over until her gunwale kissed the wave, as with a sudden start she rushed forward under the impulse of the blast. I was now making homeward. The heavens became black with angry clouds; the wind first sighed and moaned like a reluctant Spirit driven forth to fulfil its task of evil, feeling something of remorse at crimes foreshadowed and inevitable; and then working itself into fury, as though it would stifle thought, and crush out the germ of pity, the Wind in its might and rage rushed roaring over the waters, making the foam fly before it, and tearing up the face of the estuary into rugged lines of wild tumultuous waves. The little bark vainly strove to keep her head to the storm, which bore her down until the water poured over the gunwale.
It was about six o'clock in the evening, and darkness, hurried on prematurely by the tempest, spread suddenly around. The waves, as if trying to leap beyond the reach of some internal agony, rolled high above my head, as the "Fair Maid of Perth" sank hopelessly in the deep channel, with rocking mast and shivering sails. But not yet submerged, she rose again, and fronted the storm, struggling desperately to reach the northern shore, which was not far distant. But the skies grew blacker still; the storm became a hurricane; the wind roared so loud that no voice of human agony or despair might be heard above its tremendous fury; the waves grew higher and mightier, and became rushing hills of water, overwhelming, irresistible. To me, quailing in my frail bark, in all the consciousness of helplessness and ruin, it seemed as though the winds and the waves were really sentient beings combining to overwhelm me, and increasing their efforts the more I struggled.
This is no fiction that I am relating, but a reality that happened to myself, and which it would be impossible to exaggerate. Never shall I forget the last tremendous wave that came down upon me, impelled by a maddening gust which whirled tearing along through the wild air, and scooping its deep passage through the waters. In vain was the jib-sheet let fly; in vain did I luff into the wind. I could not quit the helm, and therefore was unable to lower the sail which in that hurricane could not have been got in easily, and in the meantime the boat, breaking off from the wind, would have been swamped. I was so near the shore that I hoped still to reach it, the wind being abeam, in the course of a few minutes. But nothing could withstand the last wave and blast. The boat lurched, and broke off. Hurled on her beam-ends, the boom was in the water; the waves rushed over the side; she struggled bravely, and tried to right herself; but after staggering forwards a few seconds, the weight of the in-rushing water bore her down, and she slowly fell over on her side. The sensation was by no means pleasant. I felt her going, without being able to prevent it. I glanced around for aid or hope; but there was neither. I could see nothing but waves, and hear nothing but the roaring blast. The shore was close to me, but the high waves, and the darkness of the hurricane, prevented my discerning even the tops of the trees. As the boat capsized, I kicked off my shoes and threw off my coat and waistcoat, and seizing the main-sheet, let myself down in the water, trying to find bottom, but there was none within reach.
I struck out towards the shore, but the ablest swimmer that ever swam could have made no progress against that sea, and I could scarcely swim at all.
I scrambled back to the boat, which now lay on her side, level with the surface. On getting upon her, you may conceive—but no! you cannot—the horror of the moment, as I felt her gradually go down —sink, sinking beneath me. All now seemed over. My time had arrived; my last moment was come. I collected my thoughts, and prepared for it.
I did not feel so much terror as I should have anticipated in such a scene. Death seemed inevitable, and I nerved myself, and prayed. All the past did NOT press upon me at this moment, in this death- struggle, as some readers may imagine. I thought not of my sins, nor of my friends, nor of time misspent and work left undone—my whole mind was absorbed in the sense of DEATH and FUTURITY. The glances, rather than the thoughts which shot across my soul, seemed like revealings of immortality. My sensations were mixed of horror and hope; the CHANGE from the old to the new Life seemed beginning within me. It might have been excess of terror, but I did not feel terrified. I felt that all was over, and there was no room for the anguish that arises from doubt. All struggling was vain, and though in tumult and horror, I yet felt resigned. The World of Time was past, and new being was at hand.
Such is the memory which I must ever bear of the hour when (yet vigorous and full of Life) I was held in the arms of Death.
The boat went down. The waves rushed over me; the enemy held me by the throat, and seemed to press me into the opening grave. Even as the light faded from my eyes, and the Spirit waited for that quick, sharp touch of the dart which should free it from the bonds of mortal life, I perceived the stem of the boat rising slowly out of the waves, whilst the stern was borne down by my weight.
Instinctively I swam forward, and got upon another part of the boat. Down it went again; and as the water dashed against my face, I saw the stern now rising up, whilst the stem plunged down into the depths below. I scrambled amidships; the sea and the wind struck her, and she rolled heavily over, righting herself for a moment, with her mast and sail erect; but soon she lay on her larboard side, deep in the water. I had been washed off her, but clung to the main-sheet, and so got back again. I now held on to the side with one hand, whilst I managed to strip off all my clothes except my shirt and flannel waistcoat, first taking my knife out of my pocket. With this I tried to cut away the stays which held the mast in its place, hoping that it would then fall out, and relieve the boat of the sails which weighed her down so low in the water. Most fortunately I had not sand-ballast, in tarred bags, as most of our pleasure-boats had, but water-ballast in breakers, which now proved no additional burthen to the boat. It was also fortunate that she was built partly of deal, and had only her lower streaks of jarra wood, which does not float.
The blade of the knife, which was only a pen-knife, soon broke, and I was obliged to give up the attempt to remove the sails. Still the hurricane blew on, wild and terrible as ever; the spray washed over me like rain; the waves dashed me repeatedly from the boat, which was whirled and tossed about in a strange manner; sometimes rolling completely over, sometimes going down head, and sometimes stern foremost, I had to scramble from part to part, and exercise a good deal of agility in saving myself from being struck by the gunwale, or by the boom and sail, as they rose from the water and fell back again.
And now I could see but small prospect of being eventually saved. The only chance was that the boat would drift, in the course of time, across the estuary, here nearly four miles broad. Then I tried, and for a long time vainly, to ascertain whether she drifted at all. The anchor, with about five-and-twenty feet of cable, had doubtless fallen out, and the boat was probably stationary. Night had set in, and it was too dark to distinguish even the shore with its forest of trees. These gales sometimes continue three days, and I knew it would be impossible to exist many hours immersed in water. I dreaded lest I should become benumbed and unable to hold on to the boat.
In order to keep up circulation as much as possible, I shouted aloud, and rubbed my breast and thighs with my disengaged hand.
Some dark object was on the water near me. It moved; it came quickly towards me. I could just discern that it was a whale-boat containing several men. It had no sails or oars, yet it flew before the blast. I shouted and screamed as it went by, not twenty yards from me; and the men turned their heads and waved their arms, and doubtless answered, but the gale roared with unabated fury, the waves intercepted them from my sight, and I could not hear their voices.*
[footnote] *These men were about a mile and a half astern of me, when the hurricane began, and tried to pull in shore; but just as they thought to have reached it, one of their oars broke, and being now helpless, they were obliged to scud before the wind. By good fortune they were carried up the Canning, where they remained all night.
The moon had now risen, and the clouds were partially dispersed, so that I could at length distinguish the woods on the weather-shore; and I could see the weary waste of waters over which I must drift before I could possibly be saved.
Sometimes the wind blew with lessened violence, and I could sit upon the submerged bilge of the boat, and consider my state and prospects. After long observation, I felt assured that the boat did really drift, but it was very slowly; and I feared that as we approached the other shore, her anchor must inevitably bring her up in twenty-five feet water, and that nothing could save me from perishing of cold. It never occurred to me during this memorable night, that when I set sail in the afternoon I had shortened the cable to about five feet in length, in order the more easily to trip the anchor. This was one of the circumstances, providentially ordered, that tended to save my life.
Some miles down the estuary I could distinguish a light in the house at Point Walter, high placed on a steep bank; there two of my friends were at that moment carousing, whilst I was being buffetted by waves and tempest, and fearing that the saturated sails and heavy wood at length would sink the unfortunate boat to the bottom. I yet could scarcely hope to escape; my mind was still made up to die, and I tranquilly awaited the event.
The moon had now made half of her journey across the heavens; the wind had moderated, and I redoubled my exertions to keep off the cold by shouting and rubbing myself. My flannel-shirt was another instrument of safety to me. It felt warm to my body though the waves poured continually over it.
The outline of the forest on the lee side of the estuary was now distinguishable, and hope would have been rife within me but for the expectation of finding myself anchored fast at a fatal distance from the shore.
Every thing appeared so indistinct in the gloom of the night, that I could not guess how far I was from land; and it was with surprise, as well as delight and gratitude, that I felt the boat bump against the sand. Oh that first bump, which told me of safety and deliverance after five hours of incessant peril! Shall I ever forget the thrill of delight which it gave me? I could scarcely credit my senses, and put down my benumbed feet with doubt; but they rested on the sand— real, hard, blessed terra firma! and without delay I waded through the water to the beach.
The wind had now fallen, and it began to rain.
I was on the edge of a thick wilderness of forest, without any house within reach—the nearest was some miles distant, and to reach it in the dark, and without shoes, through swamps and thickets was almost impossible.
The Canning River was about half-a-mile from me, and on the farther side of it was a settler's house; but though I might reach the bank of the river, I could not hope to make myself heard half a mile off, amid the howling of the dying storm, and by people fast asleep. There was nothing for it, therefore, but to make myself as comfortable as possible, and remain where I was until morning. Fortunately, I recollected having seen the ruins of a goat-shed not far distant, when I had landed on this spot with my gun two or three months before. With some difficulty, and some pain to my feet from thorns, I discovered this relic of a hovel. Part of the roof was yet entire, and sheltered me from the wind.
The door was lying inside, and this I made my bed. Then, having wrung out my shirt and flannel-waistcoat, and returned thanks to the Almighty for preserving a life not, perhaps, sufficiently prized by the owner, I lay down completely exhausted and fell asleep.
Awaking at daylight, I started off through the woods, stiff and hoarse with cold, but light of heart; and having reached the Canning, succeeded at last in making myself heard by the farmer opposite, who took me across in his boat, breakfasted me, and lent me his clothes, and finally conveyed me to Perth, where I found my friends preparing to go in search of my body.
CHAPTER 23.
THE DESERT OF AUSTRALIA.—CAUSE OF THE HOT WINDS.—GEOLOGY.
I intend in this chapter* to give an explanation of the cause of the hot-winds of Australia; to throw out a suggestion on the most likely mode of prosecuting discovery towards the interior; and to conclude with a slight sketch of the geology of the colony. Before doing this I shall give a brief account of a journey made by myself and Mr. Maxwell Lefroy in search of the inland sea so often talked of, and which a native promised to show to us; so large, he said, that when he stood on one shore he could not see the other. Although this sea turned out to be a pure fiction, the journey was not entirely useless, nor altogether uninteresting. As this sea was probably not more than 200 miles distant from York, according to the reckoning of the native, who said it was "ten sleeps off," I judged that one month's provision would be sufficient.
[footnote] *This chapter I owe to Mr. Henry Landor.
Accordingly, Mr. Lefroy and myself started on the expedition, on horseback, taking with us a native boy, and a pack-horse loaded with flour, tea, and sugar, and other necessaries. It will be sufficient to state that we pursued a south-east course, crossing the Hotham, the Williams, and the Arthur rivers, and traversing an indifferent country, but in many places fit for sheep-grazing, before we came to the lake, or sea, of which we were in search. When we arrived at it, we were disappointed to find it not more than six miles long, although the natives, with their usual amount of exaggeration, had increased it to an illimitable ocean. Before descending from the high land to the plain in which the lakes are situated, we caught a distant glimpse of what appeared to be a grand and broad river, pursuing a winding course through a magnificently wooded valley, with its clear bright waters dwindling in the distance to a silvery thread. A nearer examination, however, dispelled the illusion, and the beautiful river turned out to be nothing more than a chain of shallow lakes, situated in a woody valley; and only in very wet seasons flowing from one to another.
We determined to follow the chain of lakes eastward, so long as our provisions should last, or as long as our horses could find food for themselves. We proceeded east for six days, passing numberless lakes, and observing that the chain divided, one branch of lakes running north-east, and the other due east. We followed the latter until we came to a lake called Dambeling, by far the largest we had seen, being about fifteen miles long by seven or eight wide, with a good sheep country on its northern bank, and a river, which we called the Lefroy, falling into its eastern end. The river was about thirty yards wide, with a clayey bed, and large fresh-water pools, and flowed from the east, through the worst country we had seen, it being an apparently endless desert, and level to the horizon. We went one day's journey into this inhospitable country, but the want of food for our horses, and our own unprepared state, prevented us from penetrating farther. On our return, we went for two or three days north, on the outskirts of the desert, before we turned westward on our way back to York.
The only land we crossed in this expedition was situated on the head of the Hotham and Williams. The area of this country is undoubtedly very great, but its average character is below the York district, although it is well adapted for sheep-grazing.
But the most interesting feature is the barren and desolate country to the east of Lake Dambeling, doubtless a continuation of the same sterile country seen by Mr. Roe, the surveyor-General, east of York many years previously; and probably from Mr. Eyre's observation, extending quite down to the southern coast. We had no means of ascertaining the width of this dreary country, but we did not think it could be impassably wide because the river Lefroy appeared to come across it. This river, in a geographical point of view, may be important, as the character of its bed, without trees, more water-worn than the other rivers of the colony, its size, and the direction from which it comes, render it exceedingly interesting to determine how it is supplied. The sandy nature of the country on its banks, and for many miles east, and the flatness of the country, preclude the idea that it receives its supply of water from the immediately surrounding district. It must either be supplied by a country of a far better character to the eastward, or it is the outlet of another and larger lake far in the interior. From the natives we could learn nothing but that there were no kangaroos, no opossums, and no water to the east; but as their knowledge never extends 100 miles, and they would tell any lie to avoid going where they had no inclination to go, their opinions are worthless. It might be worth the while of the colony to send forth another expedition to determine the boundaries of this desolate country, as it is not improbable that a practicable rout might be discovered to South Australia by means of the river and lakes.
The outlet of the lakes is into the river Beaufort, and possibly also into the Gordon. There is no doubt that in exceedingly wet seasons the whole valley is one continuous stream, when all the lakes would be united and present a truly magnificent appearance; but as the area of evaporation is so large, and the banks of many of the lakes are high, the quantity of rain must be enormous before the valley becomes filled with a running river. Lake Barbering, where the valley divides, has a steep shore, with three distinct marks of former water-levels. All the lakes have two or more shores, showing either a decrease of rain or an elevation of the land itself, probably both. Between the present and ancient shores there is a belt of swamp-oaks and tea-trees, which show that some length of time has elapsed since the water left its old levels.
The water to fill these large reservoirs must come down the river Lefroy, as the neighbouring country is too sandy to supply it in sufficient quantities.
No question in geography has presented a wider field for conjecture than the much-debated one of the nature of the interior of Australia. Is it desert, or water, or pasture? inhabited, or destitute alike of animal and vegetable life? The explorations of Captain Sturt, and the journey of Mr. Eyre, would incline us to believe that the country is one vast sterile waste; but the journey of the latter is worth nothing as an attempt to expose the nature of the interior, since he never left the coast. It certainly shows how much suffering the human frame can endure; and whilst, as illustrative of Australian geography, it is valueless, it is highly creditable to the energies of the traveller.
The expedition of Captain Sturt has shown that to the north of South Australia the country is chiefly desert, totally incapable of supporting animal life: while the geological specimens of that traveller prove that the rich mineral strata of South Australia extend far beyond the pastoral boundaries of the colony. A reference to the journey of Mr. Lefroy and myself, from York to the south-east, will show that there exists a low level country running far beyond our farthest eastern point, which may afford abundance of water and pasture for any future expedition proceeding in that direction.
An expedition starting from these lakes in the BEGINNING OF WINTER, so as to take advantage of the first supplies of water, might advance far enough into the interior to discover at least the possibility of proceeding before the succeeding summer would render it impossible to return; for the lakes alone would not be sufficient to ensure a supply of good drinkable water during the summer, as they generally become quite salt long before summer is over. It would be necessary to find a good deep water-hole for the party to remain at during the dry season, and from which they could push out small lateral expeditions as a sort of foundation for the next season's main advance. Expeditions in Australia require great circumspection. It is not the most rapid traveller who will get the farthest, but the most prudent and cautious. I consider it quite possible to get across the island, either to South Australia or to Port Essington. Most probably it would be easier to get to the latter than the former.
From observations made on the rains and winds in Western Australia, and careful inquiries on the same subjects when I was in South Australia, and on a comparison of the two, I am inclined to believe that the climates of the two colonies assimilate. A wet winter in one is a wet winter in the other. Both receive their rains when the wind blows from the north-west to south-west. Thus the rains from South Australia pass from the Indian Ocean over Western Australia, and the whole island, to South Australia. The hot wind of Western Australia blows from the north-east; and, in fact, the hot wind of both colonies comes from the same portion of the great island. That which is the hot wind in summer in Western Australia is the cold wind in winter; and the same in South Australia. The reason is obvious. It is evident, from the fact that South Australia receives its rain from the Indian Ocean, that there are no mountains in the interior of sufficient elevation to intercept the clouds; that there are no mountains in the interior, is shown also by the absence of rivers emptying themselves into the ocean. From the observation of Mr. Lefroy and myself, we were led to suppose that the interior consisted for the most part of immense clay plains; the lower portion of these plains being hollowed into the large shallow lakes we meet with in our journey. Where the country is a little more elevated the plains are sand instead of clay. In winter these plains are covered with water, as the drifted leaves on the bushes testify; and the marks of water on the surface are very evident. Now, when the winter winds pass over these immense masses of water, the great evaporation renders them intensely cold; and they arrive in the colony laden, (if I may so unphilosophically express it,) with cold, caused by rapid evaporation. In summer these very plains are equally the cause of the hot wind; for when the rains cease, and the sun acquires his summer power, the water is quickly evaporated, the clay becomes baked, and the heat is reflected from the hard heated surface quite sufficiently to raise a thermometer to 110 degrees in the shade. The wind is now driven towards the colony laden with heat from the cracked, baked, clay-plains in the interior; and thus it is, that at different seasons the same country produces such opposite effects. But although the general state of the interior is barren and unproductive, as I imagine, I do not suppose that it is entirely so. I believe there are many cases of good pasture land in the midst of this sterile country; fertile spots, small when compared with the vast area of indifferent country around them, but large in themselves. And these pastoral oases are more cultivated than the worthless land amid which they are placed. In these patches of good land there are always water-holes to be found, and water-courses well marked, conducting the surplus waters to the lakes in the clay plains. That there are such fertile spots in the Australian deserts is certain, for I have seen many of them myself, and they are mentioned also by the South Australian travellers. The similarity in most respects of vegetation in Western Australia and in South Australia, and the identity of many plants, proves also a country of good quality lying between the two colonies; by which such plants were conveyed from one country to the other. Thus, the so called white-gum is the same tree in both colonies; the mungat, or raspberry-jam tree, is common to both; and also to the plains of New England, in New South Wales, where (I understand) it acquires a larger size than in Western Australia. The manch is another tree also common to the two colonies; so is the black-wattle. The grasses are many of them alike. But this similarity is not confined only to the vegetable kingdom. The birds and animals are many of them also alike. The white and the black cockatoo are common to the three colonies, as are many kinds of the smaller parrots, the kangaroo, and the kangaroo-rat, the numbat, the opossum, the native cat, and many others. And this is not only true of animals of great locomotion, or birds of long flight, as the pigeon or cockatoo, but equally so of the opossum, the quail, and the wild-turkey. The quail and the turkey are birds chiefly found in grassy lands, and neither fly to any great distance: at least the quail never does; the turkey will when much disturbed, but not otherwise. Also the water animals, as the tortoise, are to be found in both colonies; but not the platypus, which is confined to the country east of the great river Murrumbidgee and its tributary the Darling.
The natives are also alike in feature and habits, evidently the same race, with language similar in character, in both countries, with similar weapons and methods of procuring food; having also similar customs and laws.
Now, I infer from these facts, that the population, animal as well as vegetable, proceeded from one country to the other; and that many forms of vegetation in the two colonies possess no greater difference, than the difference of soil and latitude may account for; and that it may therefore be possible for men to find a route from one country to the other, by carefully noting and following the lay of the water-courses, the direction of the oases, and the nature of the geology of the country; for that no impenetrable desert exists between the countries, is evident from the passage of vegetables and animals from the one to the other. What will be the benefit, some one may ask, when such a route is discovered? Why, independent of the knowledge gained to geography, there will be the great practical good of opening the boundless pastures of Western Australia to the flocks of the already overstocked lands of the other colonies. To Western Australia the gain would be great; and to South Australia it would be equally advantageous, as it would maintain the value of stock there, which will rapidly fall when no more land can be found fit for occupation. Even with all the rapid increase of population which the great mineral abundance of that colony will continue to create, sheep will multiply faster than the population, until they become of the same low value as in New South Wales, where, if there be no run sold with them, they are not worth more than the value of the wool on their backs.
It is therefore most desirable that attempts should be made to find a stock route from the western to the eastern coasts.
Intra-tropical Australia is more abundantly supplied with rivers, and of a larger magnitude, than any out of the tropics, the Murray alone excepted; and doubtless a journey across the island within the tropic would present fewer difficulties than one direct from Perth to Sydney, or Adelaide; but, excepting for the advancement of geographical knowledge, there is no object to be gained by such a journey. The best way is along the valley of the lakes, guided as the party proceeds, by the nature of the country.
I earnestly hope that an expedition will be sent to make some effort to penetrate the great extent of an unknown country, lying east of Western Australia, as it is an object well worth the attention of the Government, or of the Geographical Society.
The geology of Western Australia is not very interesting, as the country is entirely of primary formation to the east of the Darling range of hills: the granite every where crowning the summit of the hills, and the immense plains consisting entirely of granitic sand, or of hard clay containing nodules of primary rocks. This formation, which does not in Western Australia consist of the stratified primary series, as in South Australia, cannot be expected to yield the abundant mineral riches that the strata of South Australia exhibit. Probably gold may be met with, and copper and lead may be found in the Koikunenup Range, which is not entirely a granitic range, but is, I believe, capped with clay slate. The level country lying between the Darling hills and the sea is of a much more recent formation; but has not been sufficiently examined to determine its age precisely, though I imagine it will be found to belong to the pliocene tertiary formations. Certainly it contains many shells of species now living in the neighbouring ocean; and the limestone ridge running parallel with and close to the coast, and which in the colony is falsely called magnesian limestone, contains a great proportion of modern shells. The country lying between the hills and the sea contains many beds of lignite; one of which, at Nornalup, on the south coast, is more than two feet thick, and shows itself on the face of the cliff on the north shore of the estuary. Following the line of coast in any part of Australia, the geologist cannot fail to be much struck by the evident marks of a gradual elevation of the land; he will every where see the marks of the sea on the cliffs, at a considerable height above its present level. At Cape Chatham, on the south coast, these sea-marks are visible 300 feet above the present level of the ocean; and can be seen on the face of the rocks, in the hills at some distance from the coast. On my journey to Nornalup, I discovered a lake containing shells in abundance, which appeared to me, and were also considered by the late Dr. Hinds (Surgeon, Royal Navy) a skilful conchologist, to be a littoral species, common to the shores of various parts of the globe. These shells, of no interest in themselves, become excessively interesting as evidence of a connexion once existing between this lake and the ocean, from which it is now at least forty miles distant. This lake is not more than 100 feet above the present level of the ocean, and entirely separated from any other lake or river. How, therefore, could these marine shell-fish be living in a salt lake, unless they had continued to exist there from the period when it was a portion of the ocean itself? That many generations of them had lived and died in this spot, was quite certain, from the abundance of dead shells on the shores of this very interesting lake. Nor is the evidence of elevation confined to the coast; all the lakes seen by Mr. Lefroy and myself have ancient shores much higher than the present waters ever reach. The same evidence of elevation is to be seen in the harbour of Sydney, and in Spencer's Gulf, in South Australia. At the head of the latter the shingle and rolled-stones clearly show that the gulf has formerly run much farther inland: probably to Lake Torrens, the superfluous waters of which are now discharged into the head of the gulf. The whole plain of the Murrumbidgee has been, at not a very distant date, beneath the ocean; as the Madrepores, and other fossils in the limestone cliffs of the river testify. Earthquakes have been felt in South Australia since its settlement. A very intelligent gentleman there told me that he had noted eleven since his arrival; quite perceptible enough to leave no doubt as to their character. Probably the country was elevated at each shock, in a slight degree; and perhaps before the volcano of Mount Gambier became extinct the elevatory movements were more rapid. Be that as it may, I am quite convinced that they are going on at this moment; and it would be well to make marks on the cliffs in various parts of the coast, at the present sea-level, in order to determine, after the lapse of years, the rate of elevation.
CHAPTER 24.
COLONIAL GOVERNMENT.
We have already observed that a vast deal of discontent prevails in colonies. With all the natural advantages of a fruitful soil and a heavenly climate, colonists are always dissatisfied with their position; because, in a pecuniary point of view, they are always poor. And why are they so? The answer is a startling one. The excess of their abundance is the first cause of their poverty; the instability of their government, the second. They possess more than they can dispose of, and are borne down by the weight of their possessions. Place the markets of England and the labour of Ireland within their reach, and they would become millionaires were they to cease to be colonists; but so long as they continue to be colonists, governed by a Power altogether distinct from that which rules over Englishmen in their native land, they will continue to be helpless, oppressed, and poverty-stricken.
They alone, among British subjects, are living under an absolute Monarchy; the caprices of which render property insecure and of uncertain value; neutralizing industry, paralyzing enterprise, and crushing with fatal authority the energies and the spirits of the people.
In the absolute recklessness of colonial rule, no sooner does private enterprise raise its head, and throw out the first feelers on the way to wealth, than a watchful government steps forward, and careful only to secure gain to itself, crushes out (in the first feebleness of existence,) the germ of vitality.
In all new countries in which the sources of wealth are imperfectly developed, the expense of applying the means necessary to their development is so enormous, as to leave but small profit to the speculator. Labour is always dear in new countries, where there is so large an outlet afforded to the labourer to escape from the toils of servitude, and become himself an occupant or an owner of the soil. All that he gains by the exchange is an ideal independence; which is, unhappily, but too attractive to the uneasy spirit of modern improvement.
The prosperity of a colony is the aggregate of individual wealth. the prosperous advance of the colonist, is, therefore, the first duty of a superintending Government. But the first aim of that watchful guardian is ever to wring from the settler as much as may be extracted by pressure. The lowest demand for land, which would be dear at half-a-crown an acre, is eight times that amount. No sooner does the settler, by his science or industry, discover some lucrative opening, than government steps in with its restrictions, its taxes and duties, and at once cuts down the budding promise. If the design be to bring to light the mineral wealth of the country, royalties are immediately imposed; and no chance of profit is left to the speculator when the rents are raised according to the probabilities of success. It is the same with all other speculations; no one will embark, even in a timber-trade, when he knows that he is placing his capital at the mercy of a grasping and short-sighted Government.
How much more lucrative, and how much more statesman-like would it prove, were our rulers to display as much good policy as the peasants of Norfolk, who do not pluck their geese until they be well feathered! Colonists, like cabbages, should be allowed to acquire the necessary strength, and attain the proper dimensions, before they be seriously operated upon. You might then cut and nick them with reasonable hope of their sprouting forth anew.
But the worst evil of an absolute Government arises from the destruction in the minds of the people of all faith and confidence in its truth and honour.
One Secretary of State countermands the edicts of his predecessor; and as the Executive Government of a colony is composed of the paid servants of the Crown, and is merely the machine of the Secretary for the time being, the ordinances which it promulgates are distinguished by only one uniform feature—the announcement of broken promises and betrayed faith.
The inhabitants of colonies, disappointed and deceived, have no trust in their rulers, and dare not invest their capital in enterprises which may be ruined in a moment by an arbitrary edict. At one period, for instance, they may have been induced, upon the faith of the Government, to purchase remission tickets, which entitle the owner to a certain quantity of land wherever he may choose to select it. A succeeding Government confines this right of selection within certain narrow limits; whilst another decides that the holder shall be allowed to purchase with these tickets only land that is entirely valueless. At one period men are encouraged to attempt the production of colonial spirits; but no sooner is a large amount of capital expended, than it is made illegal to distil. Some parties are permitted to purchase land at a distance from the capital: and after years of toil and expense are deprived of all protection from the Government, and allowed no compensation for its withdrawal.
But it were vain to attempt to enumerate the acts of broken faith on the part of an absolute Government, from whose decree there is no appeal, and from whose oppression no redress. The moral evil to colonies is crushing and fatal.
The best informed among English statesmen know nothing of colonies: but their hardihood in legislating for them is, unhappily, equal to their ignorance. It was only last year (1846) that the bill for the government of Western Australia was (according to newspaper report) opposed in the House of Lords by a noble duke, on the ground, as his grace alleged in an animated and interesting speech, of the wretchedly immoral state of the colony, arising from the system of transportation, which so deluged the country with convicts that it was now a perfect hell upon earth! A noble lord, then Under-secretary for the Colonies, apologised, with the best grace he could assume, for this lamentable state of things, and assured the noble duke that the Government was quite aware of the evil, and was turning its attention to a remedy for it. Had any one of the noble lords present known anything at all about the subject of the debate, he might in a few words have relieved the anxiety of the Government, by informing it that Western Australia is not, and never has been, a penal settlement—that convicts are not sent thither for punishment; that even a single bush-ranger has never been known within the territory; and that, in the words of an Adelaide journal, "it is as free from stain as any of the rural districts of England."
Another Australian colony (that of Port Phillip) calls for the attention of Government more imperatively, perhaps, than any other of these settlements. At present an appendage to Sydney, but situated at a most inconvenient distance from that capital, it is compelled to remit thither between fifty and one hundred thousand pounds annually for rates, taxes, and duties, not a tithe of which ever finds its way back again. It is deprived of roads, bridges, and all public works of importance, solely because it is friendless at home, voiceless and unrepresented. Might Englishmen be made to feel that interest in colonies which in general they are ever ready to accord to the unfortunate, they would glow with indignation at the wrongs, the injustice, and the oppression under which the inhabitants of distant settlements bend in silence. "If you don't keep your colonies in a state of dependence," are the memorable words of Lord Stanley, in May, 1846, "of what use are they?" Such has ever been the narrow-minded and unstatesman-like policy of the British Government. And yet even the infant colonies of the empire, though fettered, cramped, and swathed like the young progeny of the Esquimaux, are useful still to the Mother Country. They afford the best market for her produce; and when freed from the pressure of their bonds, like plants released from the torturing confinement of their earthenware prison, and allowed to extend their roots abroad in the free soil of Nature, they will display new strength and viridity, and bring forth fruit in increased abundance. Her Majesty's present Secretary of State for the Colonies (Earl Grey) entered upon his office with truly liberal and right-minded views, which, we trust, will be carried out into operation wherever found necessary and practicable. "There can be no doubt," said his Lordship in the House of Lords, shortly before taking office, "that in our colonial empire we have the advantage of possessing warm friends and allies in all quarters of the world, who, commanding great natural resources, are united in heart and soul to defend our trade and our interests, and to take part with us in all contests against our enemies. We have garrisons of the cheapest kind in every quarter of the universe. On the other hand, the colonies have this inestimable advantage—they have the glory and security to be derived from an intimate connexion with the greatest, the most civilized, and the most powerful nation on the face of the earth. They have the glory—and they feel it to be a glory—of calling themselves British subjects, and feeling that in defence of their interests and best rights, the power and might of this country are ready at any moment to be called forth and exercised in their behalf. This is a substantial advantage of the most important kind to the colonies; and they are fully sensible of it. And if with this we pursue a liberal policy, and extend to them the dearest privilege of Englishmen—THE PRIVILEGE OF SELF-GOVERNMENT, AND DO NOT VEXATIOUSLY INTERMEDDLE WITH THEIR INTERNAL AFFAIRS; in short, if we pursue a liberal policy towards them, both commercially and politically, we shall bind them to us with chains which no power on earth may break, and the connexion between the parent state and those great dependencies may continue until they far exceed us in population."
These are generous sentiments and profound truths, and they have shed the bright beams of Hope over that vast colonial empire to which they refer.
In legislating for colonies, let it not be forgotten that one of the chief drawbacks to their prosperity is the want of confidence in the stability and permanency of existing regulations. There can be no success, and there can be no safety, whilst those regulations and laws are liable to the influence of peculiar views or individual caprice. It is the people themselves, for whose government the laws are intended, who should be allowed to impose, to modify, or to expunge them.
The predominating evil in colonies is THE WANT OF CONFIDENCE AND FAITH IN THE GOVERNMENT.
CHAPTER 25.
ONE OF THE ERRORS OF GOVERNMENT—ADVENTURE OF THE BRAMBLE.
It has ever been considered one of the first principles of good government, that a frequent and ready communication and intercourse should be maintained between the ruling power and the possessions subject to its authority. The first act of Roman sway was ever to lay down good lines of road through the conquered country; and nothing has tended so much to maintain the authority of the United States over the Red Indians of America, as the formation of roads through the wilderness. The rulers of Great Britain entertain the opinion that when they have once seized upon a distant country, and thrown into it a handful of troops and a few of their importunate friends, with the title of government officers, they have done all that is required of them. They wait with resignation for any account that may be brought of the progress of the new colony, by some wandering merchant-vessel. Despatches, frequently dated twelve months previously, during which time they have been making the tour of all the oceans at present known upon the globe, are brought to Downing Street; and are then thrown aside, or at least are never attended to, probably because they are too old to be deemed interesting. No matter how pressing and immediate the wants of the colony, chance alone affords the opportunity of making their necessities known at home. Letters and despatches accumulate in the Post-office; no vessel arrives bringing intelligence from England, or offering to take away a mail: the Colonial Secretary, having exhausted every official resource in the way of mental occupation, looks out at the window, and meditates upon quail-shooting. His Excellency the Governor, questions the possibility of adding another despatch to the hundred and fifty already composed in illustration of the art of making despatches, as Soyer makes soup, out of nothing; and oppressed by the subject, becomes dormant in his chair of state; the clerks in the neighbouring offices no longer exhibit the uplifted countenance which, as justly observed by Sallust, distinguishes man from all other creatures; nothing is to be seen of them but masses of hair in wild profusion, and right hands extended on the table, still mechanically grasping steel-pens, whilst every face lies flattened upon a paper-case, and sleep and silence, broken only by sighs and snores, reign throughout the building. Universal stagnation prevails among government people; and merchants and store-keepers appear to be much in the same condition. The only person in office who is kept in a constant state of fever, is the unhappy Post-Master-General, who is hourly called upon to state when he is going to make up a mail for England. In vain he apologises for the non-arrival of ships; there is something radically wrong in his department, for which he is expected to answer; and dark denunciations are muttered in his ear, until worn out with anxiety and nervousness, he loses his appetite, and gradually withers away, like grass in the oven.
And when at length a vessel arrives accidentally from Van Diemen's Land, or perhaps from America, the Master at first demurs about taking a mail, under the idea that it may convey letters giving information of the state of markets that he desires should be known only to himself and his employers; but finally consents; and then, having received the mail on board, carries it about with him from port to port, until at the conclusion of a long voyage, having occasion to empty his vessel in order to smoke out the rats, he discovers the forgotten boxes, and conscientiously sends them ashore.
But if it be vexatious and inconvenient to have only this uncertain means of despatching our letters to England, how much more annoying is it to have no regular and stated time for receiving them from home! What could be more painful than to have to wait twelve months before you can receive an answer to an inquiry; and what more destructive to the interests of commerce? How many fluctuations are there in the state of the markets during those twelve months!
It is one of the greatest of evils to have no regular post-office communication between the Mother Country and her colonies, and the interests of trade in both greatly suffer by it.
Much has been said lately of establishing steam communication with Sydney. A committee of Sydney merchants has been appointed in London to consider the subject, and the restless and indefatigable Lieut. Waghorn has written a pamphlet showing how it may be done, provided the Government will contribute 100,000 pounds per annum towards the project. He proposes that a branch line of steamers shall be established, to proceed from Sincapore by the north of New Holland, touching at Port Essington, and through Torres Straits to Sydney, and probably on to Van Dieman's Land. But why follow such a route as this, through the most dangerous channel in the world, where even steamers would have to lie-to at night (as the Lieutenant admits), and where light-houses would have to be erected and kept up at an extravagant cost? Why take such a route, which presents not a single place to call at, except Port Essington, a miserable spot, intended only as a kind of refuge for shipwrecked mariners, possessing no commercial or agricultural inhabitants, and only enjoying the advantages and the society of a Governor, a handful of soldiers, and three white women? Why insist upon expending so much public money, and encountering so many dangers, without conferring a single additional benefit upon the Australian colonies, when the route by the south of New Holland is so obvious, so practicable, and so superior? The projectors talk of making Port Essington a depot for coal; but why not make this depot in Western Australia? During the summer months, from 1st October to 1st April, the steamers might touch at Fremantle; and during the winter months, at Port Gladstone, fifteen miles to the southward, affording a sheltered harbour where ships may ride securely within one hundred yards of the shore. Coal mines will probably soon be at work in the colony, vast beds of that mineral having been discovered, thus offering every inducement to steam-vessels to touch here. Nor could anything be more advantageous, considering the great interests that England now has at stake in these seas, than to form a general depot in this colony, where her Majesty's steamers and ships-of-war might refit on occasion. As there is no other spot in all New Holland, Van Dieman's Land, or New Zealand, where first-rate ship-timber may be obtained, and where IRON, COAL, and COPPER, are also procurable in abundance, this colony offers advantages for the formation of a Government Dock-yard and depot (at Port Gladstone), that must be acknowledged by every unprejudiced person.
Objections may be raised to doubling Cape Lewin during the winter season; but let the steamers stand well out to sea, and there would be no difficulty. The time lost would not exceed that spent in lying-to in Torres Straits during the night. Our colonial schooner, the Champion, goes round Cape Lewin at all seasons.
We would propose that the mail steamers, instead of branching off from Sincapore, as proposed by Lieut. Waghorn, should depart from Point de Galle, Ceylon, make direct for Swan River, there take in coal, and pass on to Adelaide, South Australia, and thence to Van Dieman's Land, where they might put the Melbourne and Sydney mails on board of the steamer already plying between Van Dieman's Land and those places. By this route the Sydney people would receive their letters quite as soon as though their interests alone had been consulted, according to the desire of the disinterested committee before alluded to; whilst Van Dieman's Land would gain a few days, and South Australia and Western Australia would be allowed to share in the general advantage, from which they would otherwise be entirely excluded.
But the Government and the public would also be gainers by the route which we suggest. It would be much cheaper to them, because it would be much more profitable to the company that carried it out. The colony of South Australia is now a populous country, and becomes more so every year; but the Steam Company would carry no passengers and no goods for South Australia (perhaps not even for Van Dieman's Land), if the route to Sydney were to be by Port Essington and Torres Straits. The two colonies of South and Western Australia deriving no benefit from such a course, could give no support to the company. Government hitherto has resisted the efforts of the Sydney merchants, and refused to sanction the proposal of Mr. Waghorn, but chiefly upon the ground of expense. And there is no doubt that Ministers would be guilty of a gross misdemeanour, were they to consent to apply 100,000 pounds per annum of the public money in furtherance of a scheme designed for the exclusive benefit of a single colony. It is the duty of Government to see that any sum which may be granted shall be so applied as to confer the most extensive benefit upon all the Australian colonies. That measures ought to be immediately taken to ensure a regular communication between the home country and every one of her colonies is a matter of no doubt to us. The want of this has long appeared to be one of the grand errors of colonial legislation. Let us hope that the day is not far distant when this crying evil shall be remedied. Now that steam navigation has come so generally into use, there is no valid reason why it should not be made the means of uniting together, as it were, the different outposts of the empire, drawing them more closely towards their parent country as to a common centre. It is full time that a greater appearance of sympathy were exhibited at home for those distant settlements which have now become the principal markets for British produce, and which, therefore, deserve something more at the hand of Government than what they have so long been accustomed to find—alternate periods of tyranny and neglect.
By far the greater portion of English merchant-ships are engaged in trading to the colonies; our manufactures there find their principal mart; our surplus population is there cheaply provided with maintenance and a home. These are the grounds on which the colonies lay claim to the fostering care of the Mother Country, and we trust the days are at hand that will see it afforded.
The first step must be to ensure a regular and frequent intercourse between the countries, without which there can be no real protection; without which there is no sufficient encouragement given to trade; and the parent state can therefore reap but little advantage, comparatively, from a colony whose powers are only imperfectly developed.
Since the above remarks were written, accounts have reached England of the arrival at Fremantle of her Majesty's surveying vessel Bramble, Commander Lieutenant Yule, after passing some time in Torres Straits and on the coast of New Guinea.
Mr. Yule having kindly placed the notes of his voyage at the disposal of a friend in the colony, they were partially published in one of the local journals in the month of January last. The portion relating to Torres Straits is instructive. The Bramble sailed from Port Jackson about the end of December 1845, in company with the Castlereagh tender, Lieut. Aird, Commander. Touching at Moreton Bay, Mr. Yule visited his old acquaintance, Captain Wickham, R.N., late in command of H.M.S. Beagle, and now a settler on the Brisbane. In the words of the journal referred to, "the Bramble proceeded slowly to the northward, being much delayed by the bad sailing of the tender." The voyage presents nothing worthy of notice, until the arrival of the ships in Torres Straits, when it is impossible to help being struck with the commentary which Mr. Yule unconsciously affords upon the "perfect safety" of that passage, now so much vaunted by the advocates of the northern route. While the Bramble and Castlereagh were lying off Sir Charles Hardy's Islands, the latter being deficient in ballast, Mr. Aird was despatched with the boats to look for the "wreck" of the Maid of Athens and the "wreck" of the Martha Ridgway, with the view of procuring some; and having failed in discovering the former, and therefore in procuring a sufficient supply, he was again sent to the "wreck" of the Sir Archibald Campbell for the same purpose. So much for Torres Straits!
Mr. Yule strongly recommends Cairncross Island as the best station for obtaining wood and water for vessels navigating the straits, there being abundance of both easily procurable, and even large timber, if required. On this island they shot four megapodii, and observed many of their nests, some of which Mr. Yule describes as being twelve feet high, and upwards of fifty feet in circumference.
On Friday, the 10th April they made the coast of New Guinea, which presented a low and thickly-wooded coast-line, backed by mountains of magnificent height and beauty; the country being apparently very rich, with many villages, embowered in cocoa-nut trees, scattered along the shore. While coasting along, in search of a convenient place to land, they encountered a native vessel of most extraordinary size and character, which we will allow Mr. Yule to describe in his own words:—
"At daybreak, as the sun was rising, I was very much struck with the grandeur of some very distant mountains in a south-eastern direction —one in particular, the outline of whose summit was only visible above the intervening clouds; immense ranges of mountains were also distinctly visible this side of it, extending in a N.W. and S.E. direction. It is seldom the rising sun has disclosed to my sight so splendid a view as then presented itself; but in a few minutes, when the sun's disk appeared, the beautiful scene vanished, leaving only inferior cloud-topped mountains visible, together with the rich and undulating foreground. We shortly afterwards saw the strange sail seen last night. Although she was much nearer, she proved more unaccountable than before. As there was not sufficient wind to enable us to weigh, I resolved to send Mr. Pollard in the second gig to take a nearer view of this extraordinary vessel. I watched the boat until Mr. Pollard must have gone nearly five miles from us, when the boat's sails appeared a mere speck when close to the wonderful stranger. On this officer's return, he informed me he had approached within bow-shot of the vessel, which proved to be a gigantic double canoe, which he conceives must have measured fifty or sixty feet long, kept apart and together by a platform from fifteen to twenty feet broad, which extended nearly the whole length of the canoes, the after-end being square with the sterns of the boats; six or eight feet of this was left clear for the three steersmen, who guided the vessel with three long paddles over the stern. With the exception of this part of the platform, the whole was covered by a strong, well-built house, made of cane, the roof being flat, and about five or six feet above the platform. This roof answered the purpose of an upper deck, affording the crew the means of conveniently walking on it. This extraordinary craft was propelled by two large mat sails, each spread between two bamboo masts, the heels of which were fixed in the same step, the mastheads being spread (athwartships) from twenty to thirty feet asunder, the sail being triangular between these bamboo masts, which were supported by diagonal shores fore and aft on either side; besides these two large sails, the canoe had numerous smaller (square) ones suspended from the principal masts; there was also a small square sail forward. The whole of the spars and rigging was ornamented with a sort of flags and streamers. Mr. Pollard thinks that he saw about forty or fifty people on the roof, several of whom were in the act of stringing their bows; except this precaution on the part of the strangers, there was no demonstration of hostility. After taking a good view of this most extraordinary canoe, Mr. Pollard returned; and she ultimately was wafted out of sight. Whence she came, or where bound, still remains to me a problem.
"At noon I obtained the latitude, which was 8 degrees 3 minutes S.; longitude, by chronometer, 145 degrees 28 minutes E.
"In the afternoon the Castlereagh was visited by two small canoes, with eight men, who had come off from a village we discovered abreast of us. The natives brought off a few cocoa-nuts and some bows and arrows, which they readily bartered for such trifles as were given in exchange."
The lofty mountain which so much excited Mr. Yule's admiration, was named by him Mount Victoria, and between it and the shore were several ranges of inferior altitude, which gave him "every reason to believe that the lower regions were well watered and fertile."
Having fixed upon a favourable spot for commencing his triangulation behind a promontory which served to conceal them from the view of a native village which they saw at no great distance, Mr. Yule went ashore in the first gig with five seamen and one marine, accompanied by Mr. Sweetman, in the second gig, with three seamen and two marines, all well armed, and proceeded to hoist the Union Jack and take possession of the place in the name of her Majesty Queen Victoria. Having successfully performed this duty, and obtained the observations he required, Mr. Yule thought it high time to return on board; but the surf had in the meantime increased so heavily, that in the attempt the second gig was swamped, and every thing in her, including the arms, lost, except the quintant and chronometer, the boat herself being with difficulty saved by being towed outside the surf by the other gig. The rest of the adventure we shall give in Mr. Yule's own words:—
"At this time I observed the Castlereagh about two miles beyond Cape Possession, under sail; I therefore made signs to Mr. Wright, in the first gig, to tow the second gig towards the Castlereagh, which I concluded would attract Mr. Aird's attention. In this I was not mistaken, as the Castlereagh was immediately anchored about a mile and a half off, and her boats sent to the relief of ours. In the interim I determined that every thing which was washed on shore should be collected together, after which we all huddled close under a bush near the beech, whence we could see our boats and be hid from the view of the natives as much as possible. The Castlereagh's boats having at length closed with the Bramble's, the second gig was soon baled out, when all four boats pulled up abreast of us outside of the surf, which had continued to increase; the Castlereagh at the same time weighed, which I confess alarmed me much, as I knew very few persons could be left on board after she had dispatched two boats' crews; I therefore concluded we were discovered by the natives beyond Cape Possession. I was in a few moments confirmed in my fears by seeing Mr. Andrews prepare to push his boat through the surf. I waved him back, when he energetically pointed towards Cape Possession. I fully understood his signs (that natives were coming), but still waved him off, as I knew his gallant attempt to relieve us would fail, and that he and his boat's crew would be added to those already in distress on shore; he, however, pushed through the surf, when, as I expected, this boat was upset, and all his arms, ammunition, etc. lost. At the same moment we observed crowds of natives coming round the point of Cape Possession, armed with spears, clubs, and stone axes. Our arms and ammunition had been all lost or destroyed; our situation was therefore most defenceless, and, I may say, our retreat hopeless; those boats at the back being unable to afford us the least relief. I then thought it best to show no signs of fear or mistrust, but to make friends with the natives, and amuse them, until the next tide should enable a boat to back through the surf. In the interim, Mr. Andrews, with his four men, and assisted by some others, made three attempts to launch his boat, which failed, and she was ultimately dashed in pieces against the rocks. I advanced alone with playful gestures, waving a branch of green leaves, in token of peace. One man pointed a spear at me, but the others stared at me with more wonder depicted on their countenances than ferocity. I then offered them some bits of tobacco, which they would not approach near enough to take from my hands. This shyness, unfortunately, did not continue long; for when the main body came up, amounting to eighty or ninety men, armed, they became troublesome, and laid their hands on everything they could get hold of that was lying on the beach. To these robberies I attempted to put a stop, and made them some presents instead; but the savages must have known our helpless condition, and became every moment more daring and rapacious; and, to add to our tribulation, we observed two large canoes, each containing thirty or forty men, come round Possession Point, and heave to between the Castlereagh and the boats, as if with the intention of cutting off the latter. The Castlereagh could not unfortunately take advantage of her guns by firing grape or canister, as we were completely intermixed with the natives. At this critical stage of our anxiety, the second gig, at all hazards, was veered through the surf, and, to our great joy, four or five men were drawn off in safety. A second attempt was made, and succeeded. Then came the awful moment for us who waited for the last trip; for only a few moments before, I baulked a native when taking a deliberate aim at one of our last men who embarked. The natives now, seeing our numbers decrease, laid hands on us in the most violent manner. My quintant was first wrested from my coxswain, who in a tone of grief made me known the circumstance. I immediately turned round and exclaimed 'Oh! don't part with that'; but it was too late; and when I endeavoured to recover it, I found a club wielded over my head. In making my escape from this wretch I was secured by four others, who first took the government micronometer, which was slung round my neck. I then endeavoured to struggle out of their clutches, and escape with the pocket chronometer and note-book, but these, AS WELL AS EVERY ARTICLE OF CLOTHING I HAD ABOUT MY BODY, were stripped off; when the second gig was opportunely again backed in, and in this forlorn state Mr. Pollard, the two marines, and I, waded off, and were dragged into the boat. We then went on board the Castlereagh, which was at anchor about a mile from the shore; the canoes slowly made off to the north-westward, after we had embarked. The boats having been hoisted up and secured, we got the anchor up and proceeded out to the Bramble, and anchored close to her at 6h. 30m. p.m. I immediately afterwards returned to the Bramble, truly thankful for our having escaped with our lives. The loss of instruments grieved me exceedingly, particularly as the nature of the coast rendered it next to impossible to effect a safe landing to attempt their recovery. From the account I heard of the ferocity of the natives where the Fly had been surveying last year on this coast, I confess I fully expected death would be my fate in a few minutes, and thought of the similar position poor Captain Skying was in when murdered at Cape Roso. If we had been possessed of six or eight muskets and plenty of ammunition, I think the natives might easily have been checked, but being defenceless, my only hope was to dissemble my fears and amuse them, to give us time until we could effect our escape. These people varied in complexion from black to a light copper colour; they appeared well made and active; all of them were ornamented, but some much more so than others; their ear-rings were made of rings of tortoiseshell, a number of them being fastened together, and suspended to the lower parts of the ears, in which are holes stretched so large as to admit a man's thumb being passed through them; the cartilage dividing the nostrils is perforated in like manner."