Chapter II: Part 2

A week or so after this down came Ah Foo from his patch boiling over with tribulation. He said, the birds had taken his seeds, and, while all Thursday Island was putting in a coat of green, Ah Foo’s patch remained as brown as a saddle. ‘No makee garden up that side any more, more better look see nother place. My flend talkee that island overside can catchee number one land. I make look see.’ For two months after Ah Foo was heard of cruising round about the islands. And as there were a good lot of shelters knocking about it was surmised that John got his tucker free. At last he returned still looking fat and healthy let it be remarked, with but an expression more woebegone than ever. More better my go away. Spose flend pay my money I go China side. No catchee chancee this side. The rumour that Ah Foo was busted, quickly spread, and a good deal of sympathy prevailed. Hadn’t he tried to benefit them, and, in the endeavour, been ruined. The argument appealed to the feelings of Ah Foo’s sensitive sympathizers, and as most of the residents on Thursday Island are generous and tender hearted, a subscription was raised to send Ah Foo back to his fatherland. And he left us.

Two months afterwards what do you think we discovered. Why we discovered that Ah Foo had never had a garden at all, and he never intended to have one. All the time he was here he was buying up pearls from the black divers which ought to have come to us. _If Ah Foo took a penny out of Thursday Island he took at least £30,000, and we raised a subscription to get him carried off._

* * * * *

When I turned out next morning, I found that we were steaming along past a place called Somerset. So far as I could see Somerset consists of one house. Many years ago it was intended that Somerset should be the capital of this part of the world. Experience, however, showed that a better location might be had on Thursday Island, and thus Somerset was deserted, and Thursday Island adopted. The solitary house which now remains at Somerset was originally the habitation of the Resident. How deceptive atlases often are! The owner of Somerset ought to pay Keith Johnston pretty handsomely for making the world believe that his bungalow is of equal importance with New York or London. What the Russians pay for having the Urals represented as a great big black caterpillar equal to, if not bigger, than the smudge which represents the Alps, I can’t say, but they ought to pay at least as much as the owner of Somerset. I heard that Somerset was a good place to stay at, and get sport amongst the blacks. Usually you can rely on getting two or three brace per day. The great thing to attend to is to see that they don’t get you. After a careful inquiry as to the population of Somerset, I could only hear of one white man. His isolation has made him famous, and the name of Jardine is known throughout Australia. As we went south, the coast got lower and lower, until it finished as a country of white sand hills. The Queensland Government regard these hills as a future source of revenue. It is here, when trade becomes more localized, that the glass works of the universe are to be erected.

Beyond the sand hills we came to some rocky capes. One of them called Cape Melville was made of boulders, each of which was from the size of a college to a cathedral. It is one of the best bits in the world of rockery work.

All the way down this coast we had smooth water, in fact I believe that everybody has smooth water. The reason for this is, that between us and the open ocean, there is a range of coral reefs running parallel with the land, so that we were sailing down what was equivalent to a huge canal. The length of this canal is about 1,200 miles, and its width from 10 to about 60 miles. If you get into one end of the canal there is but little chance of getting out of it, unless by sailing straight ahead or by turning back. There are certainly one or two openings leading to the ocean, but, those who try to find them, usually find themselves landed in a maze of channels formed by the parallel lines of reef, which together build up the one great reef, which is marked on maps as the Barrier Reef. An old gentleman on board, whom we picked up at Port Darwin, gave us a thrilling account of his adventures in the barque _Mary Ann_, which was wrecked on the outside of the great reef in 1864. After the vessel had become a total wreck, he and his companions were fifty-five days in a boat, sailing from reef to reef. At first they subsisted on the few provisions saved from the wreck. These being exhausted, death from starvation seemed to look them in the face. From time to time they obtained a little moisture by licking the dew which during the night was precipitated on their sails. Having eaten their last boot, they felt their end was close at hand, and each one, hoping that their remains would be discovered, scratched a tender farewell to his nearest relatives on his pannikin. They were then encamped upon a rocky reef.

‘Before lying down to die,’ said the narrator, ‘as a last hope I dragged myself to the top of the rocky peak at the foot of which my companions were lying. The sight I saw was one never to be forgotten. We were saved--saved! and I beckoned to my companions to join me. It wasn’t a ship, gentlemen; it was a turtle.’ He called them ‘tuttles.’ ‘Tuttles are plentiful in those seas, but, like blockheads as we were, we had never thought of looking for them. Up came my companions, and there we lay flat on our stomachs peering over a rock, watching the tuttle as it crawled along the beach. How our eyes followed the animal! It was no good trying rushing straight at him, for the darned beast would have rolled into the water. As for surrounding him, there was no chance unless the tuttle went asleep. It was too flat for manœuvres of that description. To make an attempt, and then to lose him, meant starvation. So we had a discussion, everybody whispering his ideas to his neighbours. If anybody only knew how fast a tuttle could run, we might let him wander far enough back until we could outrace him before he reached the sea. Sam, the cook, said that he had been told that some tuttles had a very good record. In the West Indies they used to race them for bottles of rum. The general opinion, however, was that we had better not try the racing dodge; the tuttle might win. So we all took in another reef of our belts, determined to hold on for half an hour more. By this time, gentlemen, starvation had made us as elegant about the waists as Italian greyhounds. When thus speculating as to the best course to be pursued, Ah Sing, who was cabin-boy aboard, looks up and says, “That tuttle makee new pigen.” We all looked, and we saw that the black-looking rock which had been progressing slowly across the white sand had come to a halt. Presently we saw it going in circles, for all the world like a dog going to sit down. Then it snuffed the sand, and began to scratch with its black legs, throwing up a shower of dirt in all directions. At times the showers of dirt were so thick that the motive power was invisible. “Tuttle’s gone mad,” said one. “By and by he makee hole all same as rabbit,” said Ah Sing. Sam suggested that he was going to lay eggs. Sam, I forgot to say, was an Irishman, and Sam was right. For a moment we forgot our hunger, and just watched. When he had made a hole about as big as a good-sized fish-pond, the turtle squatted down, gave a duck of his head, and laid an egg. Presently he gave another duck, and laid a second egg. Then a third, a fourth, and so on, until in about twenty-five minutes she had laid seventy-two great white eggs. This finished, she came out of the hole, or what was left of it (for it was nearly full of eggs), scratched some sand over her production, and, exhausted, fell on her back and dozed. We caught the turtle, and also got the seventy-two eggs. It was this as saved our lives.’ After this he told us how they reached the mainland, where they had a narrow escape of falling into the hands of cannibals. Finally they were rescued by a whaler. The story was filled with the most circumstantial detail, and the telling of it took fully an hour. When it was ended, the old gentleman, who looked like a colonel who had seen service in the Indian Mutiny, remarked that he would go on deck and have a smoke. ‘_Well_,’ said the skipper, when he had gone, ‘_I was first mate of the “Mary Ann” from ’62 to ’64, and we never seed no coral reefs. Folks at Port Darwin cultivates their imagination, I suppose, I’d recommend ’im to be a poet._’

After three days’ steaming and three nights’ lying at anchor--for our skipper was a cautious old man, and preferred camping at sundown to waking up hard and fast on a coral reef--we reached Cooktown. We dropped our kedge about six miles off the shore, and there we waited lollopping about on a swell until we had been boarded by the local doctor, who came to see if we had imported any disease. All that we could see was Mount Cook, named after the famous captain, and the beach on to which he had run his ship, the _Endeavour_, after jumping her over several coral ranges when approaching the Australian coast. Mount Cook is about 1,000 feet high. The beach is flat, and on the edge of the water. After hearing about the famous navigator, we began to think that after all there might be some historical associations connected with Australia. Possibly behind Mount Cook there might be the relics of a baronial hall, a drawbridge, a Roman aqueduct, a moat, or even an ancient suit of armour.

The medical inspection, so far as I could see, consisted in a lot of frowsy men--who seemed, from their general unkempt appearance, to require more inspection than anyone on board our boat--going into the captain’s cabin. I suppose they went to look at the ship’s papers. Anyhow, when they came out they were wiping their mouths. I subsequently learnt that these people whom I have called ‘frowsy’ were really very good fellows; and if we met them on shore shortly afterwards, we might be wiping our own mouths. I regret not having met them. After this, one by one we descended by a ladder of ropes into a boat I’ll call a cutter. I don’t know much about ships, and it may have been a brig. One thing I remember was that it had a thing called a centre-board. Peter said that this was a substitute for the keel, which had been left ashore by accident. No sooner was this centre-board lowered and the sail hoisted, than the boat turned over on her side, and off she set. I thought she was going to upset. Never shall I forget that journey. Before us were waves ranged in tiers like the Sierras of North America. Now and then a larger range, not unlike the Rocky Mountains, would rise. All of these ranges were in motion, and, like regiments of cavalry, came bearing down upon us. Whenever a particularly big range of mountains approached, the man at the helm smiled. We simply looked from the bottom of the valley, up the watery slope at the fleecy heights looking down into our boat, with horror. Then there was a rise, a crash, a deluge of water, and we sank, wet through, down into the next valley. I never crossed so many ranges of mountains in two hours before. All the time we were holding on like a parcel of cats weathering a gale on a church spire. ‘It’s all right,’ said the man at the helm; ‘we’ll beat the _Fanny_ yet.’ The _Fanny_ was another small brig. ‘Just haul that jib-sheet in a bit, Jim, and I’ll keep her to it. Sorry I didn’t bring some oilskins, gentlemen. A walk ashore, and you’ll be dry in ten minutes.’ Then came another drencher. To continually look at a series of colossal waves coming along tier after tier, every one threatening to overwhelm you, was perfectly appalling. It’s all very well for sailors to imitate the penguin, but landsmen don’t like it. Just before we landed, the ruffian at the tiller said, ‘Fares, please, gentlemen--six shillings.’ Six shillings for having jeopardized your life and shortened your existence by nervous excitement! There was no arguing the point. I always felt helpless when the watchmaker, after looking through a magnifier at your watch, said, ‘Wants cleaning; afraid the mainspring is broken; the chain is off the barrel; two pivot-holes want renewing,’ etc., etc. I have also felt helpless when the doctor, after feeling your pulse, and choking you with a spoon whilst examining your tongue, remarks that ‘Your liver’s a little out of order; am afraid there is a little tuberculosis and spasmodic irritation of the diaphragm. Dear me! cerebro-spinal meningitis. I’ll send you up some medicine to-morrow. Next week you had better go to the south of France. In the meanwhile be careful and only take gruel and a little beef-tea.’

I was, however, never so helpless as I was with the charms of Cooktown.

What a mess we were in when we did land! I looked at the Major, the Major looked at Peter, and Peter looked at Dodd. Then we mopped ourselves with our pocket-handkerchiefs. Peter suggested borrowing a clothes-line and paying a housemaid to hang us out to dry for an hour. When I looked at the ladies we met in Cooktown during the afternoon, I almost wept at the thought of the miserable wet blotting-papery figure they must have cut when they first came ashore. Since that event, however, their feathers had been dried, and some of them looked quite stylish.

The principal part of Cooktown consists of one long straight street, about a mile in length, lined with a lot of wooden houses and shanties of all sizes and shapes. Usually they are one story high. Here you find confectioners, bootmakers, stationers, general stores, photographers, a whole lot of public-houses, or, as Australians prefer to call them, hotels, and six or seven chapels and schools. The greater number of the latter were a short distance out of the main street, upon some rising ground to the left. The juxtaposition of these two civilizers is very marked in this part of the world. We visited one of the hotels, and endeavoured to get some information about the place from one of the barmaids, who told us she came from London. The Major was very desirous of obtaining information about the aboriginals. He had heard of a curious contrivance called a boomerang. They used it to catch fish, and he was anxious to obtain one.

On the wall we read a notice that a certain John Smith, being in the habit of making himself objectionable to his neighbours by taking too much stimulant, it was hereby officially notified that it was forbidden to supply the said John Smith with any more liquor.

(Signed)
A. B. }
C. D. } Magistrates.

A similar notice was to be seen, we were told, in every hotel. John Smith had moved to the next town.

While here, a funeral passed. Nearly all the people were on horseback, and, as an indication of respect to the deceased, wore a white band on their hats. Some had it on their arm.

From Cooktown there is a railway now in progress, which is intended to put the Palmer Diggings in communication with the coast. In many respects it appeared to be similar to an American line. It is to the mines and a few squatters that Cooktown owes its existence.

It took two days’ steaming, and camping amongst the coral reefs, to reach Townsville. The coast was hilly, and the weather rough. The morning tub began to feel cool once more. The place we anchored at was called ‘Magnetic Island,’ and ‘Townsville is out there,’ said the skipper, pointing at the horizon. After about two hours’ waiting, a custom-house officer came off to give us permission to go ashore, and to examine the Chinamen whom we had brought. In Queensland they charge £30 per head on every Chinaman who lands. In all the other colonies, excepting South Australia, where John is admitted without duty, the tax is, I believe, £10 per head. The labouring man of Australia does not believe in cheap labour, and as he returns the members of the august Assemblies that rule the Colonies, he takes good care to see that restrictions are put upon its introduction. He doesn’t mind buying his provisions from a Chinaman’s store; in fact, in many places he buys all his provisions from the Chinaman. This is because they are cheaper than those bought from his own countrymen. He doesn’t recognise that when a Chinaman builds a railway in the country, he leaves behind him a cheap article. Had European labour built it, the first cost would have been more, and to pay this, railway fares, taxation, or something must increase, which would directly or indirectly fall on his shoulders. The only thing he sees is the Chinaman as a supplanter, taking labour which ought to have been his, but at a higher price. Then the Chinaman leaves the country, taking nearly all his earnings with him. Where a Chinaman fossicks about for gold or tin, and only leaves behind him heaps of _débris_, the colonist may rightly object; but when the Chinaman leaves behind him roads and important public works, when he feeds and clothes the colonist, and does all this at a rate cheaper than the colonist can do it himself, it is difficult to understand where the objection to John arises.

Many people that I met had prejudices against Chinamen without reason. The steamers coming from China have Chinese stewards and a Chinese crew. Everyone who has travelled on the best of these boats, and also in the best of the Australian coasters, knows that there is greater cleanliness and comforts to be obtained in the boats from China. On the Australian boats, on account of the number of passengers, the difficulties in the way of cleanliness are undoubtedly the greater. This, however, does not apply to hotels. That Eastern hotels with Chinese waiters are infinitely more comfortable than Colonial hotels, there can be but little doubt. For one who has ever been waited upon by Chinese dressed in spotless white and gliding about without noise, to be transported to the clatter of plates, the squeaking and stamping of boots, and general flurry of a large colonial hotel, the contrast is very marked. One lady I met who had travelled in a China boat, remarked that she wouldn’t travel in those boats any more. Too many ‘Chinkies’ (her name for Chinamen) on board. They smelt.

‘How do Chinamen behave in a gale?’ said a gentleman who was present, addressing the captain of a Chinese steamer. ‘Are they ever intoxicated?’ ‘Well,’ replied the captain, ‘I have sailed with Chinamen for many years, and I have found them good men in bad weather; and what is more, they are never drunk. British sailors are usually intoxicated when they come on board, and for twenty-four hours after leaving it often happens that there is hardly a man who could row a boat. For a passenger-boat to go to sea with a crew like this is almost criminal. As compared with the ordinary merchant sailor, the Chinamen on board my ship are clean.’ This is what the captain said.

So far as I could learn, the working man, ‘the horny-handed son of toil,’ is boss of Australia. He usually belongs to a Union. Union men are subject to heavy penalties should they ever be found working with a man who does not belong to a Union. They hold shipping companies in check, and they regulate the working of coal-mines.

None of the Australian shipping companies are allowed to carry any but white men as portions of their crew. If boats from other countries run upon their coasts, they are not allowed to carry passengers to ports between Cape York and St. George’s Sound. If they insist on carrying passengers, the difficulties which are thrown in their way become so great that hitherto the attempts to fight against them have failed.

To give an idea of what some of the rulers of the Colonies are like, I repeat as well as I am able, two short conversations I overheard.

First Conversation.

‘Going to work to-day, Bill?’ said a strong-looking ruffian to another who was leaning against a shed smoking. ‘Well, don’t know,’ was the reply. Then after a pause and a spit, ‘Maybe I’ll turn to at two o’clock.’ Then he shifted one of his feet as it was getting uncomfortable, and remarked, ‘Was working all day yesterday. Didn’t knock off until six o’clock.’

Second Conversation.

‘Just cast off that rope,’ said a mate of a vessel that was leaving a wharf to a group of three untidy, dirty-looking men smoking on the wharf. ‘You be----, cast it off yourself; we ain’t paid to work for you.’ They continued smoking, and a man had to go from the ship to cast the rope off.

While I was in Australia, a large vessel of some 4,000 tons came from Europe bringing heavy machinery. To discharge the machinery without running any risk of accident, one of the crew was employed as a winchman. This was too much for the other labourers, who insisted that one of their number should be employed as a winchman, whether the machinery were broken or not. The captain was defeated, and had to take the responsibility of accidents occurring through mismanagement.

At present the working man is boss, and until the Australian population has increased he will remain as boss, and exercise a rude tyranny over all who have to deal with him.

Many of the members he returns to represent him are not unlike himself, and I have heard respectable people affirm that the majority of the more educated Colonials would refuse a seat in the Houses of Parliament, even if it were offered to them without contention. I am not quite certain that I believed them, and fancy that they only wished me to understand that certain representatives of the working man occasionally indulged in unparliamentary language.

Although I have said much that is anything but flattering about the ruler of Australia, if I were in his shoes I expect that I should behave like him.

To see a batch of Chinamen come into a district and take up contracts, which I was unable to accept, would be exceedingly annoying if I and my family were driven from the district in consequence of such an invasion. I am certain that I should cast aside all views respecting the general welfare of the colony, and be violent in what I should call self-defence. Australia is for those who made it, and to be supplanted by an alien would make me very angry. I should also be angry if I found that I was bound to curtail my exertions by the rules of a Union to which, if I did not belong, I might not be able to earn a living. Unions may be used by the lazy to defend them against the industrious.

Here I have chiefly spoken about the lazy, loafing working man of the Colonies; farther on I shall refer to the sober, industrious labourer.

The getting ashore at Townsville was attended with as much discomfort as the getting ashore at Cooktown. The difference between the two was, that here I got nearly roasted; while at Cooktown I was nearly drowned. I started in a thing shaped like half a walnut-shell. It had no seats and was black with coal. In the middle of it there was a boiler fuming and steaming with 55 lb. of pressure. In front of this there were two little cylinders like a couple of jam-pots. This contrivance was called a steam-launch. It took us nearly three hours to reach the shore. All the time there was a blazing sun which cooked our heads, a radiation from the boiler which cooked our middles, and a smell of oil and bilge which upset our stomachs. The last part of the trip was up a narrow river. On landing, the first thing which struck me was a hansom. I promptly engaged it, and drove to an hotel. The next thing which struck me was a confectioner’s shop filled with penny buns. I hadn’t seen penny buns for some years, so I went in and bought one. To my astonishment they cost a penny each. I thought that in this part of the world a penny bun would at least have cost sixpence. It was just like the penny buns you get in Europe--brown in colour, shiny and sticky on the outside, sweet, soft, very palatable, and I may add, very filling. I also purchased half a pound of sweets. On my return to the hotel I generously offered a young lady who had in exchange for sixpence assisted one in washing down the bun, to take some sweets: ‘Oh, sweets,’ said she, ‘you’re a new chum, I suppose.’ ‘No,’ said I, ‘only the preface to a new chum, madame. When I have been in the Colonies forty-eight hours I may aspire to the title.’ ‘I thought that you had not been long amongst the kangaroos,’ was the reply; ‘we call them “lollies” here.’ After that I was often struck with seeing or hearing that euphonious word. Sometimes I saw it in large letters over a shop, ‘Lollies for sale,’ or ‘Lolly shop.’ Then at a railway station I have heard an old man with white hair, who was wandering along with a basket on his arms, droning out, ‘Nuts, oranges, apples, and nice lollies.’

At Townsville I was nearly stranded for want of money. I had with me a letter of introduction and circular notes. I had tried to obtain money in Cooktown, but unfortunately walked into the bank at two minutes past three. ‘Very sorry, sir,’ said a nicely dressed young man, ‘but it is after three.’ ‘But I leave to-night.’ ‘Very sorry, sir,’ said the nice young man. Although I did not see anyone in the bank, I concluded that the young men had been very busy and required rest. It is a great mistake to overtax one’s system, and I was delighted to find a set of young men who respect their constitutions. In Townsville the story was quite different. The trouble with the young men at Townsville was, that they did not care about the identification of a stranger by his signature. After trying four banks, I crossed the street to a furniture shop, and had a look at myself in a large mirror. My face seemed pretty much as usual, excepting perhaps a trifle anxious as to the prospect of having to sleep in the streets that night. Anyhow, there was nothing suspicious, so I went back to the Number One Bank to have another try. ‘We have not been advised,’ said they. ‘Great heavens,’ said I, ‘we haven’t stamps enough in the country I come from to write letters of advice to all the places printed on this letter. They would cost more than the value of the draft.’ This seemed to strike him, and after discussing the matter in another room, he said, ‘Well, if you will bring some one here to identify you, we will let you have some money.’

In desperation I went to the captain of the steam-launch, who had brought me ashore, who very kindly came to the bank, and, by signing certain documents, made himself responsible. Not only did the young men of Townsville make one feel both mean and mad, but they charged me a heavy commission. Subsequently in my travels my notes were cashed without questions, and without commissions. When the young men of the smaller colonial banks know more about circular notes and banking operations, they also will, perhaps, cash circular notes without commissions and delays. It is hard on their employers that they should send money from their doors. My mind being relieved by having twenty sovereigns in my pocket, I strolled about the town. The street--for there is only one main street in Townsville--contains several good shops. Outside the town I heard that there were some public gardens, but I had not time to reach them. In the distance, in all directions, excepting towards the sea, there are some tolerably high hills, which in one direction reach quite up to and overlook the town.

I stayed at the Imperial Hotel, a tolerably good sort of place, but with little box-like bedrooms. The average Australian has no idea of the comforts of what a European would call an ordinary hotel. Give him beef, mutton, a solid pudding, and a room like a good-sized packing case to sleep in, and he is contented,--anyhow he puts up with it.

That evening, while strolling in the streets, I was attracted by the sound of revelry in an hotel. As the windows leading on to a veranda were open, I walked in, took a seat, and acquiesced in the wishes of a gentleman who commanded me to help myself. I make it a point never to differ with gentlemen who are imperative on such points. If he had told me to drink it out of a tin mug, and to like it, I do not think that I should have opposed his wishes. At the piano there was a universal genius who could play anything and everything that was called for. A short conversation with my neighbour revealed the fact that we had both been educated at the same school. This led to other acquaintances, and by 12 p.m. I knew fifty (I here speak poetically) people who were willing to identify me. After hearing a lot of music, many songs, violent discussions as to how a Russian invasion was to be met, and finally joining hands to sing ‘Auld Lang Syne,’ I got to bed about 2 a.m.

That morning I started at 8 a.m. by train to visit the mining district and town of Charters Towers. The distance is between 80 and 90 miles. The first thing I noticed was the dust. In fact the dust insisted on being noticed. It went into your eyes, your ears, your nostrils, your mouth, your pockets and your boots, as if you were to be buried. Some of the trees in the gardens near the railway station were so earthy, that they looked as if they had been planted root upwards. Outside the town the country had an open park-like appearance. The trees were the same old type which I saw at Port Darwin--scraggy gum trees with white stems. There were also a few screw palms. Here and there, there were plains covered with tombstone-like ant-hills. Along the line there were posts marking every quarter mile. By observing these I found that we were running a mile in from seventy to eighty seconds. All the gradients were also marked. It did not take long before I found that I was on a railway line, the engineer for which had some originality. Part of the way I rode in a _coupé_ at the end of the train and I could see what I left behind me. Sometimes I was looking down a slope and sometimes up one. ‘Grand line this,’ said a fellow-passenger. ‘Compensating grades they call them. Wait a bit, and you’ll see some fun presently.’ It wasn’t very long that I waited. The fun began at Reid’s River, where there was a slope of 1 in 25, down to a bridge which was purposely made low in the centre, so that the train could swoop down upon it and then by its impetus climb up the other side. This sort of arrangement saved viaducts. There is another good rush made at the Buredkin River. Here the bridge is said to be too flat, and the train comes down upon it very like a thunderbolt. It makes passengers quite nervous. When we commenced to lower ourselves gently down the first of these slopes, which I could easily see by craning my neck out of the window, I felt troubled. Very quietly the speed became greater, and I felt my heart palpitating. Then the train seemed to control the engine, and away we went with a lighting-like rush down towards the bridge. At this point I drew in my head, and prayed that the bridge was strong. It was just a rattle and a ‘whish’ and we were climbing the other side. We reached the top, panting and puffing like a broken-winded horse. When the floods are on, the train apparently charges down into the river,--the waters of which may have run above the metals. There was a lot of this, so-called fun, on the road. At the end of it, I felt that my days had been shortened by nervous excitement. The great thing was to know how I was to get back. I have travelled in America over high trestle work, when the engine has crossed with the delicacy of a cat,--feeling every timber as it went along,--not unlike Blondin on a tight rope. In Queensland you felt like a shooting star passing through space. I think I prefer listening to the squeaking of a rickety framework in America to the railway fun in Queensland. At one place we were dragged by two engines, up a series of steep inclines, called the ranges. At the time the line was being made an old lady took a passage down the ranges in a trolly in company with one of the engineers. The trolly got under weigh and took possession of its two passengers, who had to lie down flat and hold on. ‘The trees,’ referring to the bush on either hand, said the old lady when relating her adventures, ‘looked like one tree. Never had such a journey in my life. Why, it didn’t stop until we were four miles past my house. Further off home than when I started. Never catch me on them trollies any more.’

The man who called this kind of travelling ‘fun’ was an insurance agent. After some conversation he found out where I lived, and how many years I had been there. Then he wanted to insure my life. He informed me that he often got ‘cases’ in the train. With him a ‘case’ was the technical term for a man who is induced to pay a certain sum of money to an Insurance Company. Another technicality with a similar meaning was, I found, ‘a subject.’ ‘I live in an unhealthy climate,’ I remarked. ‘Well, you say you have been there ten years, and taking you as a sample I don’t mind insuring the whole of the inhabitants in that part of the world.’

‘Look here, there is the doctor,’ and he pointed to a little old man in the corner. The little old man said, ‘Yes; I’m the doctor, and examine free.’ I felt I was being cornered. It was no good talking about fevers, earthquakes, the difficulties of collecting his fees, all that he wanted was the _first_ fee. As a last refuge I asked for a prospectus, and told him I would consider the matter.

My having volunteered to consider the matter enabled him, by pointing to me as a semi-convert, to introduce the subject of insurance to the remaining passengers in the carriage, all of whom he would insure at cheaper rates than any other company. By-and-bye a priest got into the carriage. Old Insurance immediately wished him good-morning, and after introducing him to each individual in the train as if he had known them and all of us for years, entered into conversation on the advantages of life insurance. In Charters Towers we stayed at the same hotel. He often took a seat next to mine. When he sat down to lunch the conversation usually commenced by, ‘Well, have you considered the matter? You’ll never get such a chance again. Just got six new “subjects” this morning, and expect to get four or five more this afternoon. The doctor has been as busy as a bee; haven’t you, doctor?’ The poor little doctor gave a sickly little smile, and assented. Every day that I met Insurance, I felt that I was breaking down. Had I remained in Charters Towers another week I must either have allowed myself to be insured, or else have died from worry. The doctor has probably succumbed. I never saw a man better cut out to be led round and do as he was bidden. If Old Insurance had said to his companion--‘Now dance, doctor--jump, doctor--say yes, doctor--stand on your head, doctor,’ I believe the poor little man would have done his best to comply with the orders. My pity for the doctor was very great.

It seems to be a common thing in Australia for insurance agents with their doctors to be travelling in search of subjects. I subsequently met one or two other sets of subject-hunters, but I never met with one so determined either to kill or else insure you as my Charters Towers acquaintance. The directors of his company ought to raise his pay. The public ought to get him transported.

At Ravenswood Junction there are some experimental works for extracting gold from its ores by chlorinization. From this point we might have branched off to see some silver mines where ore is being smelted in one of La Monte’s water jacket furnaces. It was nearly one o’clock when we reached our journey’s end. Here the country was open and undulating. There was a little brown grass to be seen, but no trees--at least, near the town. The only thing to break the view were groups of houses, huts, piles of white _débris_ (mullock), and tall poppet-heads. The roads were white and dusty. In places the dust was six inches to a foot in thickness, and so soft that you sank in it like mud. When a cart passed, the cloud it raised rendered it invisible. In the house we found preparations for races in progress. There were many book-makers on the spot, and a lot of jockeys. Sometimes they used bad language and hit each other. Mining first commenced as alluvium work. This was about ten years ago. Now the work is all quartz-crushing. Everybody talks about mining, morning, noon, and night, ‘The Day Dawn is running 14 ounces,’ says one man. ‘Fine body of ore in number two Queens,’ says another. ‘Seen the new heads at the Defiance, Jimmey?’ says a third; and so it goes on until the uninitiated gets sick of mining. When I was returning from Charters Towers I had to get in the train at 6 a.m. As it wasn’t light until about 7 a.m., I could only judge of my fellow-companions by their conversation. In front of me there was a most earnest discussion going on about particular claims. ‘One reef would run four or five to the ton. After they got finished with their new poppet-heads and got down a little deeper, things would be better, etc.,’ etc. When daylight came, I found that all these technicalities were being fired off by two small school-boys, respectively aged about ten and twelve. The children at Charters Towers must be born with a mania for quartz.

The majority of people can only talk about their own speciality, and they quite ignore the feelings of outsiders who are compelled to listen to their conversation. In Newfoundland everybody talks about codfish, excepting for a month or so in spring, when they talk about seals. The worst old talkers I have ever met have been antiquated skippers. Once when crossing the Atlantic, the smoking-room was monopolized by three old shell-backs who discussed reefing topsails, the qualifications of the barques _Sarah Jane_ and _Mary Ann_, and other nautical matters, so continually, that in less than two days no other passenger could remain with them.

The gold at Charters Towers occurs in quartz veins or reefs. These, instead of running through the slates in which it was once supposed was the only proper place to expect gold, run through a kind of granite. Of late years gold has been found in most unexpected quarters. Since being in the Colonies I have seen it in calcite, and serpentine. The great gold deposit of Mount Morgan is a mountain of siliceous iron-stone, probably deposited by a geyser. At first it was thought that the whole mountain was a solid mass of gold-bearing rock. Now, however, a tunnel seems to have shown that it is only a skin or covering on the outside of the hill where gold occurs. The ground originally belonged to a young squatter named Donald Gordon. Donald suspected it might contain minerals, and asked the opinion of a scientific professor. The Professor said, ‘It is only iron-stone. Donald.’ Finally Donald sold his mountain for £640. The people who bought it estimate its value at £9,000,000. Poor Donald!

After getting the blocks of quartz, in which, as a rule, you can’t see a speck of the precious metal, up to the surface, they are broken in pieces with sledgehammers. They would use rock-breakers to do the work, but as rock-breakers, like Chinamen, do away with European labour, I imagine that they must have been tabooed--anyhow, I did not see a rock-breaker. The broken quartz is next thrown into the iron mortars, where heavy iron stampers are at work. When the quartz is sufficiently fine, it escapes like so much muddy water through screens in the front of the mortars, to flow over the surfaces of a series of copper plates covered with mercury. Here a quantity of the gold sticks to the mercury and amalgamates with it. From time to time these plates are scraped, and the amalgam thus obtained is subsequently distilled. Much gold, however, runs over the plates, and it is a great problem as to how it is to be caught. At some mines it is caught on rough blankets, which are stretched over an inclined plane forming a continuation of the copper plates. Still, there is a certain quantity of gold running away mixed with the water and the sand. This material is usually concentrated, that is, it is caused to pass over some machine where the light sand is washed away, and the gold, mixed with iron pyrites and other materials, remains behind. This pyrites material is then roasted and amalgamated in specially contrived amalgamators. Sometimes it is treated chemically. The more rapidly these operations are carried on, and the greater the flood of water employed to wash the sand along, the more the fine gold escapes. All the escaping water deposits its sediment in pits called slime pits, the contents of which constitute tailings. At all quartz-crushing establishments, you see mountain-like heaps of these tailings. They look like hills of fine white sand. Some of them are sufficiently valuable to be sent to Germany, where the gold, which the Australian miner has allowed to run to waste, is extracted at a profit. Every mill you visit you are told is the best mill in the Colonies, with the best methods and the best machinery. When I looked at the enormous stamps, one could not but think that it was like using Nasmyth’s hammers to crack walnuts. When you saw the general want of automatic apparatus to break and feed materials, you felt that mine proprietors were kind to workmen--who, by-the-bye, usually get about ten shillings a day. When you saw the floods of water tearing over the tables, and through the various machines, you felt that those who sent their ore to the mills were easily contented. I suppose there are reasons for all this, but they were not explained. Notwithstanding all the gold which is washed away, things are brisk. One gentleman was pointing out to me, who, at the time of my visit, was making £1,000 a week. There were a theatre and a circus in the town, and along half a mile of the main street I counted twenty-two public-houses. Altogether there are about two thousand or three thousand people in Charters Towers. On Sunday night I think I saw nearly all of them. They spent the evening in parading up and down the street in a very quiet and orderly manner.

At the hotel where I stayed, I had abundance to eat and drink. My bedroom was only nine to ten feet square, and I had to share it with another traveller.

I returned to Townsville the same way as I went. As I did not put my head out at the valleys and bridges, I did not incur the same feelings of insecurity from which I had suffered when going up. At Ravenswood Junction we had a scramble for breakfast, that is to say for a cup of coffee and a slab of steaming meat. Australians are fearfully carnivorous. Each of them eats, at least, an acre of beefsteak every year. This helps to make them big and strong. When I was in Melbourne, some prisoners had been making public a complaint that they did not get meat three times a day. They excited considerable sympathy. Just as I was about to pay for my feed, a rough-looking miner gave me a push, saying, ‘Shove that in your pocket.’ At the same time he threw down four shillings on the table to settle for two. I did not argue the matter with the gentleman.

At Townsville I found a launch waiting to carry me and sixty-one other passengers off to the steamship _Warrego_. On board we found a number more. It was an awful crush. The steamer was expensively fitted. If they had spent the money in making her a few feet longer, instead of spending it in fittings, we should have been more comfortable. All the saloon and other rooms were lined with slabs of marble. It was rather pretty, but too much like a bath-room. Here I heard very much about mining, and a little about separation and Government jobbery. At present Brisbane, at the extreme south of Queensland, is the capital. Those who live in the north complain that they pay for railways and other public works which they never see. There is too much centralization in the south. What Northern Queensland requires is separation and a capital at Townsville, then the money collected in the north would be spent in the north. People at Charters Towers say that Townsville is a fraud. It can never be made into a harbour, and their railway ought to have terminated at Bowen, where there is a harbour. The Townsville representatives have been too powerful, and they were not going to lose the trade, which Charters Towers and other places farther inland might bring them. Everybody who sends goods into the interior, or brings them from the interior, can be beautifully squeezed at Townsville. First, the Townsvillians collect dues for cartage from the station to the end of the pier. They are too wise to let their railway be carried to a place convenient for shipping. Next are the dues for lighters out to the ships; and so it continues.

The people at Townsville are clever, and Townsville is rapidly improving. About midnight we stopped at Bowen, but as it was dark I kept in my berth. The next stoppage was at Mackay, where we discharged a lot of passengers, and took in a batch to fill their places. The coast was rocky, with islands and clumps of trees. Speaking generally of our passengers, they were a rough lot. Nine out of ten of them wore soft felt-hats, the brims of which they turned down. Most of them smoked, expectorated on the deck, and jerked the ends of wax matches and tobacco ash in all directions. The captain said that this was the result of competition. It enabled third-class passengers to take a saloon passage.

Australia is a land of wax matches. Everybody carries a box. There are apparently certain points of etiquette to be observed in their use. If you are lighting a pipe, and a gentleman asks for a light to his cigarette, don’t give him the match which is burning, but dip your finger in your pocket and let him strike a light of his own. It would be more convenient to you and also to him to receive the light which is burning, but that does not matter. When asked for a light, do not offer your pipe or cigar, but offer a match. In South Australia I heard that they were not considered safe, and only safety matches were allowed. My experience is that they are equally dangerous--both may and do explode on the slightest aggravation. An interesting series of stories might be written on adventures with matches.

Next morning, at about half-past five, we reached Capel Bay, where the passengers for Rockhampton disembarked. All the places down this coast appear to be inaccessible to large steamers. They are situated up rivers, and the rivers have bars. From this point the coast got flatter. During the afternoon there was a little excitement by one of the passengers having a fit; on his recovery I gave him, at his own request, a glass of water and a Cockle’s pill. That night, at about one a.m., there was a cry of ‘Fire! fire!’ shrieked through the saloon. We all turned out, perhaps one hundred in all, men, women, and children--in night dresses. The officers and, finally, the captain appeared on the scene, and we found that it was the sick man wandering about in a state of mental aberration. The captain ordered two stewards to watch him. Shortly afterwards he went up the companion and out on the port side. The stewards followed up the companion and out on the starboard side. They expected to meet their charge on the deck. He, however, was never found. We suppose he jumped overboard.

Early next morning we were at the mouth of the Brisbane River. On our starboard bow we could see some remarkable-looking mountains called the Glass Houses. One of them, which was called Mount Beerah, is 1,760 feet high. It looks like a very sharp regularly formed pyramid. From its shape, and from the fact that round about it, places have names alluding to volcanic materials it is probably of volcanic origin. It is certainly a very remarkable natural needle. The river is at the entrance very broad, and the land on the banks very flat. Here and there are swamps and fringes of mangrove. As we get higher up we see patches of sugar-cane and a few bananas. The river is muddy and full of shoals. On the banks, the shoals, and floating on the water, there are hundreds, and possibly thousands, of beacons and buoys. They help to make up the scenery. As the channels are ever shifting, these indices for navigators are shifted or multiplied. When an invader approaches, the ordinary plan will be to remove or alter the position of the guiding marks. At Brisbane it would be well to let everything remain in _statu quo_, and if the enemy did not get wrecked, it might be counted as a miracle. At one point there are earthworks forming a fort. Here the river is closed by a boom of timbers. A portion in the centre is left open for the passage of vessels. All these military preparations are due to the expectation of a war with Russia. Even the smallest place in Queensland has done something to beat off the expected cruiser. In Port Darwin the volunteers were busily engaged in practising at targets. Similar amusements were going on at Thursday Island and in Townsville. At some towns places had been looked for to which bank treasure might be removed.

Now, however, every town, from the snowy uplands of Southern New Zealand to the sandy shores of tropical Queensland, has completed its preparations. At many harbours it would be an unfortunate thing if a belligerent found his way inside. He would most certainly never go out. The war scare has done good. It has placed the Colonies on a war footing.