Chapter II: Part 2

About breakfast time we were abreast of the Channel Rock lightship, and as we had some packages on board for them, the whistle was sounded and a boat manned by four men--one of whom was the possessor of, I think, the finest beard I ever saw on a man--put off from the lightship and was shortly alongside, the steamer being stopped for a few minutes to enable them to obtain their letters, papers, and goods, amongst the latter being a large bale of aboriginal blankets for the use of the blacks in the vicinity of Cape Melville, where they are still pretty numerous. How on earth the unfortunate beings condemned to pass their days on this lonely lightship manage to exist without losing their reason passes my comprehension altogether, for a more desolate-looking spot it would be hard to find on the face of the earth, viewed as we saw it from the deck of the Rockton, with the lightship anchored about three miles from the shore; a few ugly rocks just showing above the surface of the sea indicating the dangers of the channel; the mountains of rock piled together in most admired disorder, and almost bare of vegetation, in the background--the whole scene being one of such utter desolation that I could not help a feeling of pity arising in my breast for the poor devils, whose only intercourse with the outer world is limited to an interchange of a few words once a week with a passing steamer.

Some little time after passing the lightship, and when nearing the Flinders Group, a blackfellow’s canoe was descried in the distance, and as we drew nearer we could see that it contained four darkies, who were paddling with might and main trying to intercept us--no doubt for the purpose of begging food and tobacco, or any other articles which the charitably disposed might feel inclined to bestow upon them. Their canoe, which was fashioned out of a hollowed tree and fitted with an outrigger to prevent its capsizing, was making good headway under the frantic exertions of its dusky crew, being well away on the starboard bow; but as time was precious, our genial skipper did not care to slow down for the purpose of holding an interview, and we gradually drew abeam of them: but they struggled gamely on until we left them astern and they saw pursuit was hopeless, when, with a gesture of despair, they threw up the sponge and, squatting down in their frail bark, watched us steam away, regretting no doubt their hard luck at missing a breakfast and a smoke which had seemed almost within their grasp.

We shortly afterwards passed the Flinders Group, a most remarkable landmark on this route; and I was informed by Captain Leggett that splendid oysters of most delicious flavour can be obtained in almost any quantities just off the point of the most westerly of the islands, he having discovered them on a former voyage when commander of the Gunga. The sea is as calm as the proverbial mill pond, and we seem as though steaming along some broad and beautiful river, the points of the Great Barrier Reef showing plainly on our right, whilst on our left we have the mainland, in some places bold and well defined, and in others low and indistinct, from which at times dense columns of smoke are seen arising, denoting no doubt the presence of some of the wild tribes of blacks who still find a safe retreat in the recesses of Cape York peninsula.

We shortly come in sight of Claremont Island Lightship on the Northern side of Princess Charlotte Bay, where Captain Wilson, his wife, and assistants find a quiet retreat from the noise and bustle of the outside world; and here also we see a little daughter of Pilot Thompson’s, who is suffering from an affection of the brain, and has been recommended by a medical man thorough rest and quietness for a time; and no better place could have been selected, for certainly, to judge from appearances, nothing could ever occur here to jar the nerves of the most sensitive, whilst there is a little more variety than is apparent at that lonely Channel Rock, there being a beche-de-mer station visible on a low-lying coral island a short distance away to the eastward, with which doubtless the dwellers on the lightship keep up communication.

There are many low islands and patches of coral reef distinctly visible on either side as we steam along, rendering the utmost vigilance on the part of pilots and captain indispensable, but we have a relay of good men in Pilots Thompson and Keating and Captain Leggett; so we make good headway in spite of all obstructions; and shortly after leaving the Claremonts we meet the British India Steamer Catterthun bowling merrily along on her course southwards, with whom we exchange the courtesies usual at sea. We are evidently in tropical climes this morning, judging from the light and exceedingly airy costume in which one of the gentler sex appears on deck, causing quite a feeling of astonishment amongst the lady passengers who have not yet learnt to appreciate the coolness and luxury of a robe made of mosquito netting and fine linen, and a flutter of excitement amongst the male portion, who, like myself, believe that beauty unadorned is admired the most. But the Captain, like the good general he is, soon puts matters straight, and the excitement gradually subsides as we settle down listlessly to pass away the hours as best we may.

On Thursday morning, about eight o’clock, we enter the beautiful Albany Pass, certainly one of the most lovely spots on the whole coast of Australia, and nearly everyone is on deck to admire the lovely scene presented to their view.

There is a terrific tide rip at the entrance, the water fairly surging over some low-lying rocks on the port side, running down from a point of land covered in all directions with ant-hills of a beautiful red color, with which one lady seemed excessively charmed; and not being quite sure of what they consisted, asked another lady friend if that was the lovely red coral of which she had heard so much, but was unable to obtain any definite information on the subject; and I am still under the impression she retains the belief that some of the grandest coral ornaments in the world are to be obtained at that particular spot. The ever-changing views obtained as we steam through the Pass bring forth expressions of admiration and delight on every hand, culminating in one spontaneous burst as we round the point, which reveals a view of the old Government residence at Somerset, and now occupied by Mr. Frank Jardine, who has a large cattle station in this portion of the peninsula--the house being situated upon an eminence surrounded by dense tropical foliage, bringing out in strong relief the cleared ground in the midst of which the buildings are erected, whilst down on the beach are the boat and beche-de-mer sheds, with a neat little schooner and her attendant fleet of small boats lying peacefully at anchor--making, altogether, a picture long to be remembered.

At the northern end of the Albany Pass lies the Sextant Rock, so called from the circumstance of the great navigator, Captain Cook, having landed there to take observations; and as we draw near to Thursday Island, just before entering the Prince of Wales Channel, we see away to the north-east some few miles distant the wreck of the ship John-de-Costa, which ran aground on the North Torres Reef, a little over two years ago, whilst on her way from Melbourne to Calcutta with 150 head of horses on board for the Indian market.

There she lies nearly high and dry with a slight list to starboard, looking in the distance like a vessel at anchor, a grim monument to the dangerous navigation of these coral seas; and shortly after she was wrecked, whilst horses, stores, &c., were still on board, the lot was submitted to auction at Thursday Island, and bought by a syndicate of the residents in the immediate vicinity at the following figures: The vessel with all standing rigging was sold for £170; the horses and about 30 tons of fodder only realised £20; cabin stores, £20; deck stores, £20; and 125 iron tanks of 400 gallons each, £20.

All attempts to get the ship off the reef have proved futile, but about 100 of the horses were saved, being transhipped into small vessels belonging to some of the pearl-shellers, in lots of four and five at a time, and then landed at Thursday Island, from whence they were finally sent on to Normanton, the majority being conveyed by Captain Leggett in his various trips with the “Gunga,” so that the speculation on behalf of the syndicate must have turned out a very profitable venture. We steam round the northern end of Hammond Island and Hammond Rock, the latter looking like some immense boulder, round which the tide is rushing at the rate of a good five knots an hour; and here we catch the first glimpse of Goode Island and the lighthouse, with Friday Island looming in the distance; and shortly afterwards pass the Mecca Reef, so called from the fact of the steamer of that name having there become a total wreck.

It is matter for congratulation amongst us that we have come through safely, it being almost impossible to over-estimate the difficulties attending navigation through these dangerous and intricate channels, which necessitates a uniform rate of speed in order to keep a correct reckoning, so that great reliance has to be placed on the chief engineers of all steamers taking this route; the beacons placed here and there on the numerous sunken reefs with which the place abounds denoting plainly even to the most unpractised eye that the life of a captain in these waters is certainly not all beer and skittles; and excuses might be found for an accident in this locality which would be entirely wanting in more open navigation, as the reefs extend right across to the New Guinea coast, so that all vessels have to come pretty close to Goode island in order to get through the narrow channel of some half-mile in width which there exists, and which in the event of an invasion of our territory by a foreign power could be fortified at comparatively trifling expense, and render an attack from that direction almost impossible.

We steer round the northern end of Goode Island, obtaining a line view of the lighthouse and keeper’s quarters, romantically perched on the highest point of land in the island, having Friday and Prince of Wales Islands on the right, Goode and Hammond Islands on the left, with Horne Island in the background, Thursday Island lying dead ahead. Going through this passage we encounter a very strong tide, the buoys marking the passage being half submerged by the fierce rush of water, which reminds one very much of the current in a mighty river; but the Rockton is equal to the occasion, and our progress is certain, if not very rapid. There are several shelling stations in sight, and I was particularly struck with the beautiful situation of the one known as “Waiawea,” which is on a small island lying between Hammond and Goode Islands, and looks, with its grove of palms surrounding the residence, a veritable paradise on earth.

Fleets of shelling boats are lying at anchor at the various stations, whilst one small schooner, evidently making for the anchorage at Thursday Island, has had to drop anchor through not being able to make headway against the tide, and forms a very picturesque object, with her colored crew forward and the boss, evidently chewing the cud of reflection, seated near the stern. We entered the port by a different channel to that which I entered on a former occasion in the City of Melbourne, in consequence of the water being too shallow to admit a vessel of the Rockton’s draught coming through the nearer passage; but we rounded the point on which is situated the Government residential quarters and laid a course for the hulk Star of Peace, alongside which our Captain laid the Rockton in a thoroughly workmanlike manner, without any of the noise and fuss generally noticeable on such occasions.

We are soon boarded by Mr. Milman, the acting Government resident, in a smart water police boat, who shortly afterwards goes ashore, taking as passengers Messrs. Cribb and the parson who had come to settle down amongst the “Thirsty Islanders,” whilst several friends and myself are invited to take passage in the remarkably smart boat belonging to Messrs. Burns, Philp, and Co., manned by a colored crew of boys, dressed in a neat blue and white uniform, white caps with tortoiseshell peaks, and commanded by Mr. Bromley, the agent here for the great northern firm who monopolise the greater portion of the business done in this quarter of the globe. The colored population is very conspicuous, shore boats manned by Cingalese being an especial feature; and some howling swells are visible amongst the various crews, one joker in particular being especially remarkable for his flowing petticoats, tortoiseshell comb, bald head, and a few long locks of hair behind his ears and on the back of his neck.

Cingalese traders also come aboard with heaps of Brummagem stuff, dear at any price, and do their best to drive a bargain, but with very little success, the majority of our passengers having been there before, and had some little experience of these guileless colored gentlemen. We cast anchor at a few minutes past noon on Thursday, and as we had to discharge about 70 tons of cargo and take aboard 100 tons for Normanton, our skipper, who was anxious if possible to get away again that night in order to catch the tide on the Norman River bar on Saturday, tried his best to expedite matters; but he had to deal with a lot of colored wretches who had evidently been born tired, and consequently required a certain amount of rest, so that, strive as he would, the fates were against him, the loading and unloading process lasting well on to midnight, when it was too late to make a start, so that we had to remain where we were until daylight on Friday morning.

We had a commercial traveller aboard with a heap of samples who got fairly on the war-path because he was unable to induce Mr. Bromley to let him stow his luggage in Messrs Burns, Philp and Co.’s gig, a craft certainly never built for or intended to carry cargo, and never used for that purpose even by the firm themselves. Then he tried to induce Captain Leggett to place one of the ship’s boats and crew at his service, evidently wishing to get his goods ashore on the cheap, and not caring what delay or inconvenience might be caused to a whole ship’s company by the proceeding as long as he got his own turn served.

The Captain told him that as he was anxious to proceed on the voyage that night if possible, he could not spare the boat’s crew, but as there were plenty of shore boats available, why not engage one of them if very anxious to get his samples landed. But this did not suit the drummer’s book altogether, so he relieved his feelings by blackguarding everybody all round, and swearing vengeance on Bromley, Captain Leggett, and all concerned, but I noticed he took the shore boat at the finish, when he found it impossible to save the expense of the transaction. There are thousands of people like him in the world who care nothing for the loss and inconvenience their actions may cause to others as long as they can get their own turn served, and save expenses which are only fairly and legitimately incurred in the prosecution of their own business transactions. Going ashore at Thursday Island is a bit of a pic-nic, especially for ladies, there being no wharf to land at, and as the water is very shallow for some distance from the shore, boats are unable to come right in, consequently, passengers have to be conveyed from the boats to the beach on the backs of the colored boys who compose the crews--so that a heavy weight on a light built boy stands a fair “six to four” chance of coming to grief, and carrying more water ashore in his clothes than he bargained for.

There are some very nice buildings and residences visible from the beach, the Queensland National Bank and the private residence of Messrs. Burns, Philp and Co.’s manager shewing out prominently; there are also two hotels, which are very fairly conducted and look extremely cool and comfortable, but I can hardly understand why customers have to pay a shilling for a drink, as they surely ought to be able to land liquors as cheaply here as they can in Normanton, where the price is only sixpence. We had a stroll round the place, but it does not take long to encircle the settlement, and I was more interested in a visit paid to Messrs. Burns, Philp and Co.’s Stores under the guidance of Captain Pearson, an old resident of this locality, than with anything else I saw upon the Island. The front store abounds with supplies of every description required in the Island trade--a large business being now done with the natives of New Guinea, whose curios and implements of warfare form a conspicuous and very interesting exhibit, the Company having a large stock of them for sale.

In the back stores they showed us tons of pearl shell, some of which, recently discovered in a patch off the coast of New Guinea, was of excellent quality, several specimens of the golden-lipped variety that were submitted for our inspection being something magnificent in size and appearance; whilst ranged in bags round the walls were the different species of beche-de-mer, first and foremost being the teat fish, which realises a high figure in the Chinese market, it being esteemed by the disciples of Confucius as one of the rarest of delicacies when served at table in the form of soup.

Having fairly explored the settlement, which certainly is one of the most picturesque and interesting spots on the eastern coast of Australia, and has a resident population of about four hundred souls, embracing, of course, the islands in the vicinity, as well as a floating population of about twelve hundred, comprising whites, blacks, Malays, Lascars, Coolies and Chinese, we signal the boat, in order to return to the ship, and on our way witness a rather novel sight.

A number of fat bullocks had been shipped at Townsville on board the Rockton to the order of the only butcher at Thursday Island, and as the ship was as previously described, lying at some distance from the shore, it proved a matter of some little difficulty and danger to land the stock without running the risk of loss by drowning; so to minimise the risk as far as possible, the following plan was adopted:

A rope with running noose at one end was first placed round the horns of each bullock as they stood in their stalls on deck, when the slings were placed under them, and one at a time they were hoisted into mid-air, and then gradually and gently lowered into the water alongside the ship, where boats were lying in readiness to take them in charge, in order to tow them ashore. The ropes round the horns were grasped and secured to a ring in the stern of the boat, whilst two stout rowers pulled with might and main towards the shallow landing, the butcher, or one of his assistants, being seated in the stern of the boat to steer and watch that the cattle did not come to grief on the journey.

Thus, partly swimming and partly towing, slow progress was made, until eventually the cattle struck the sandy beach--when the fun commenced--as, finding they had foothold and something to charge at, they madly plunged at the boat, necessitating the exercise of considerable skill on the part of the boatmen in keeping out of harm’s way; but what with the confinement on board ship and the resistance offered by the water, the poor animals were soon exhausted, and seeing a few green bushes and some tempting green grass at the edge of the water, they slowly made their way ashore, and under the welcome shade of the trees, stood ruminating, no doubt upon their novel experiences of the last twenty-four hours.

On board again once more, where all is hurry and bustle in order to save the tide, Captain Leggett being anxious to get through the passage that night if possible, and in the meantime we are favoured by numerous visitors from ashore and afloat, if I may use the term, “everybody who is anybody,” making it a point to avail themselves of the hospitality of our worthy skipper whenever he drops his kellick in these waters--to say nothing of the opportunity afforded to these convivial and thirsty souls of “interviewing the alligator” at the, to them, moderate charge of sixpence, when compared to their own island tariff of a “robert.” We had the brave Baron Wilkins, the bold commander of the “Von der Sluyt,” as grand a hulk as ever stored a cargo of coal, accompanied and supported by a true specimen of the British Tar, in the person of Captain Williams, of the equally celebrated clipper “The Star of Peace,” now, alas, also condemned to the ignoble but useful role of storing coal and cargo for the ships of the A.U.S.N. Co.

A SHARK STORY.

Many others came, amongst them being Captain Anderson, an old sheller in the waters of Torres Straits, and the owner of a complete plant and station on Friday Island. He has in his possession a splendid collection of pearls obtained by him in the pursuit of his avocation during the last ten weeks, their value being about £300, one of them weighing 8¼ carats, an egg-shaped pearl of remarkable beauty and lustre, and without a flaw, being valued by him at £150; and as he also collected three tons of shell worth £140 per ton at the same time, his venture was, to my mind, pretty successful. On my making a remark to that effect, he said the life was not all beer and skittles, having its full share of dangers as well as its pleasures; and as an illustration he related to me one of his diving experiences, when he had a fight with a shark. He said “I was working at the time with my boat’s mate and crew, about 15 miles from Captain Hovell’s Shoal, out to the westward from here, and was down in my diving dress, in about twelve fathoms of water. As I was walking along I espied a shark lying on the bottom close to a coral cup or sea fungi, and apparently fast asleep, so walked over towards him, and lifting my foot, shod with the heavy leaden sole which it is necessary to use in connection with the dress, I kicked him fairly in the head. But I made a great mistake that time, for in about three seconds my noble shark came at me like a bulldog. I was carrying a bag with about ten shells in it, which partly hid my right hand; but, unfortunately, my left hand was exposed fairly to view, and the monster descrying it came towards it with a terrific rush, and succeeded in touching it with his nose. Before he had time to turn and seize upon it I managed to wrap the bag around it. I moved backwards and the shark struck me twice with his tail, nearly knocking me over, when it would have been all u. p.; but I managed to keep my feet, and obtaining a little room, kicked him fairly in the teeth with my diving boot, which gave him a start, and to my intense relief he turned tail and cleared at the rate of 40 miles an hour. I can assure you that no one was more pleased than myself at the termination of the encounter, as I was fairly stunned with fright, and was totally unable to draw my dagger, which, in order to keep bright and useful, is inserted in a watertight case, and has to be turned four times in the sheath before it can be withdrawn.”

* * * * *

We weighed anchor on Friday morning, having, after all, been delayed longer than we expected, got safely through the passage in a strong ripping tide, and after an uneventful voyage down the Gulf of Carpentaria, we sighted, about midnight on Saturday, a light that pointed out the anchorage off the mouth of the River Norman.

We steered a course as straight as an arrow for the lightship, shewing that our captain and his officers must have kept a very good reckoning, and I cannot close my remarks upon this part of our journey without bearing ample testimony to the kindness and courtesy of Captain Leggett throughout the voyage, and to the care and attention bestowed upon the passengers by one and all connected with the ship.

We cast anchor off the Norman River bar between twelve and one a.m. on Sunday, and the steam tender “Dugong,” under the command of Captain Campbell, came alongside in the small hours of the morning to convey passengers and luggage up the river to Normanton, so that we had to turn out pretty early in order to save the tide, and partake of a seven o’clock breakfast before starting, the transfer of luggage being rapidly and safely effected in the meantime, after which the whole of the passengers are transhipped without delay, and we bid good-bye to the good ship Rockton, which has carried us so far safely on our journey.

The anchorage at Kimberley is a wild dreary looking waste of water as viewed from the deck of the small steam tender, it being fully fourteen miles off the shore with scarcely anything visible to break the monotony of the scene, the land lying very low and fringed with the mournful looking mangroves so prevalent on the northern coast of Queensland; but steam is up and away we go, shaping our course by means of the buoys laid down to mark the course of the very circuitous channel which we have to follow, bounded on either side by shallow sand banks covered with sea birds of various kinds, who here find a congenial home, the only land in view being on the starboard side and only just discernible above the water’s edge, whilst some few miles off lies a ship which has brought out a cargo of rails for the Gulf railway, but has made the mistake of keeping too far out, she having anchored in five fathoms of water and unbent her sails preparatory to discharging her cargo, but as it was almost impossible for the lighters to lay alongside in such an exposed position, her captain was making preparations to bring her a few miles closer in and nearer to the lightship, in order to enable them to get through the work. We cross the bar safely and shortly afterwards sight the Telegraph Station at Kimberley, and as the Dugong is making fair progress we are not long before entering the mouth of the river, and a blast from the whistle brings off old Bob, the boatman, to receive a few telegrams, conveying the fact of our arrival to the Normanton agents of the Company, who have to make provision for our conveyance from Baffle Group to the town, as the Dugong, drawing six feet of water, is unable to proceed any further than that point in the present state of the tide.

The Telegraph Station is situate on the left hand bank of the river as we enter, and seems a lonely enough spot in all conscience, but I am told the old man in charge has been there for years, and seems fairly contented with his lot; his immediate neighbours consist of a tribe of aboriginals to whom he is very kind, but they all received a terrible fright during the hurricane that almost destroyed Burketown, as it came tearing across here with terrific force sending a wave of water right across the point, reaching half way up the little house with the red door, situate on a sandbank a short distance from the beach, and making the darkies believe their last day was at hand. The river here is a noble looking stream carrying about five fathoms of water, the depth from the bar to the mouth averages about four, and is nearly a mile in width, and taking into consideration that not one pound of public money has been spent in its improvement, it is, in its natural state, one of the finest rivers in the colony; but the bar sadly wants dredging in order to allow ocean-going steamers to enter the river, where they could obtain safe anchorage in all weathers and discharge cargo without risk, damage, or delay. Old Bob comes oft in obedience to the signal whistle, seizes the line thrown to him and hangs on until the telegrams are handed over, when he clears for the shore, off which are lying the old pilot cutter, the new steam launch which has superseded it, and a lighter belonging to the rail ship before mentioned. The bank on the right hand as we steam up being very low and densely covered with the everlasting mangrove, forming a splendid breeding ground for the Gulf mosquito, but the land on the left is of much superior character, consisting of lightly timbered forest country, well grassed, and of fair fattening capacity, and now in the occupation of a small syndicate, who, by means of a butcher stationed at Mrs. Armstrong’s old selection, supply the pilot and Telegraph Stations, together with the various vessels calling at the port, with beef of excellent quality, both horses and cattle keeping in grand condition, more especially after the old grass has been burnt and young green feed springs up, which it does in about a fortnight after the fire has died away.

Here we observe the blackfellow in all his native dirt and ugliness--numbers of both sexes, many of whom are clad in the costume of the Greek slave--standing on the bank watching us as we steam rapidly by, and shortly afterwards we pass Messrs. Burns, Philp and Co.’s steam launch undergoing an overhaul on what Captain Campbell calls his gridiron--a slip invented by himself for the purpose of occasionally having a look at the bottom of the vessel he commands.

About ten miles from Kimberley we pass the Red Bluff, a low-lying red ridge, situate about a mile back from the river, and chiefly remarkable for the agitation that has lately sprung up with regard to the construction of a railway from there to Normanton; but one can hardly recognise as sound economy the idea of running a railway over flooded country, on a course parallel with a navigable river, especially as the surrounding land seems to consist entirely of swamps and salt clay pans, which could never be made available for any useful purpose.

Fifteen miles up we pass the mouth of Walker’s Creek on the left hand, on which there are some good waterholes about twelve miles back from the river, near where the telegraph line to Kimberley crosses it, as well as some very fairly grassed country of decent quality; and some distance further on we pass the mouth of Wells Creek, also coming in from the same side, whilst on either hand we pass numerous mangreve-lined small inlets; in fact, one could almost call them ditches so narrow are they, whilst the country is so level that the windings of the river itself are something to be remembered, our boat’s head being pointed to nearly every quarter of the compass during the passage; and some idea may be formed of its twistings and turnings by the knowledge that it is fully 50 miles from Kimberley to Normanton by the river and only 20 in a direct line by land.

As it is now about mid-day we have the pleasure of interviewing the steerage passengers at dinner, and a fearful and wonderful performance some of them go through in the operation, two or three individuals being exceptionally expert at the Japanese trick of knife swallowing. It was a wonder, as I heard a passenger remark, that they did not cut their blooming throats, whilst the way others would load up, and after disposing of a loaded forkful within their capacious jaws, dive the fork they were using viciously into the nearest dish of potatoes for a fresh supply, was a caution to snakes. Proceeding onwards we pass the barque Florida and schooner Budgeree, both of Sydney, the Scandinavian skipper of the latter having the cheek to ask the Dugong to give him a tow up to Double Island, which reasonable (?) request was, of course, politely refused.

Passing Double Island I was astonished at the enormous number of Spoonbills perched upon the trees; they were literally packed in thousands, this being a favourite breeding ground for them, and some distance higher up the river the Captain gave me the word to look out for an alligator, and sure enough, on arriving at the spot indicated, near one of the beacons erected as a guide, we saw the scaly monster sunning himself on a grassy bank, and succeeded in getting within twenty yards of him before he glided silently into the water, where, with a swish of his tail, he quietly disappeared from view.

He caused a great commotion amongst our passengers, many of whom had never seen such a sight before, and all were on the look-out for another of the tribe whose habitat was a little further on, their curiosity being duly gratified as the saurian was at home, but hearing the steamer approaching he also backed quietly astern, and as we came abreast, his jaws and little twinkling eyes were all that could be discerned for a moment as he plunged silently beneath the wave. Some little distance below the Battle Group we passed the barque Lucy and Adelaide, of Sydney, with her nose in the bank, and evidently aground till a good tide should give her a lift, making it rather difficult for us to pass, but we managed it safely, and shortly after one o’clock we made fast to the primitive landing at the Group, where a string of wagonettes, buggies, &c., were in waiting to convey us to town.

Planks were run ashore, passengers and light baggage landed, the balance being transferred into a lighter for conveyance up the river to the wharf at Normanton, and we take our seats in the conveyances provided for the six miles drive which has to be covered before our journey is ended, and in about an hour we are safely deposited at Hely’s Transcontinental Hotel, where a cordial welcome from the hostess and many old friends greets us on our arrival.

After a good bath and a cup of tea we drive down to the wharf in the hotel trap to secure our luggage which had just arrived in the lighter, a crowd of people being congregated on the same errand; and I witnessed about as good a rough-and-tumble performance in connection with it as I ever wish to see again.

The light packages, portmanteaus and tin travelling trunks, had been bundled down into the bottom of the hold, and the heavy packages thrown promiscuously upon them, bursting open locks and squeezing them out of shape in a manner very annoying to their owners; and many were the curses, not loud but deep, bestowed upon the lighter’s crew in consequence, but fortunately my own came through the ordeal all right, thus saving me from expending a certain amount of profanity, which may prove useful on a future occasion. I meet many old friends at Normanton, among them, Major Colless, Messrs. Heydon and Brodie, Charlie Hely, and others, and we have a long chat over the late race meeting at which Heydon and Brodie’s “The Moor,” secured the lion’s share of the spoil, and to shew the sporting instinct of the residents of this go-ahead town, a sweep of £50 each was duly entered into by four well-known individuals, the conditions being that one and all should keep sober for six months; or, in the event of any of them breaking the pledge before the expiration of the time, his or their deposit should become the property of the one who kept the agreement intact.

Fortunately, they all renounced whiskey until the time expired, when they had an old-time spree just to treat resolution, and then, I believe, handed over the whole of the stakes to some charitable institution. We have to wait in Normanton from Sunday until Tuesday morning, and in the meantime amuse ourselves as best we may, but there is very little in the town or its surroundings to interest the traveller, and time passes listlessly enough to those who have neither business or occupation to while away the time. The town of Normanton itself is very well situated, being built on a hard, red ironstone ridge, which no amount of traffic ever cuts up; the only inconvenience suffered being caused by the clouds of fine red dust that occasionally sweep through the streets, and which clings to one’s clothes with the tenacity of a Bathurst burr. It is also well supplied with banks, the New South, Queensland National, and Royal being well represented, whilst the hotels are also numerous and well kept, Hely’s, O’Shaughnessy’s, Rafferty’s, and Davis’ being amongst the principal ones, but I must not forget to mention the hotel kept by the Meriga family, it being quite an institution in Normanton, and received a very suggestive appellation in the olden days when residents and visitors did not care to walk too far for a “nip,” as in consequence of its being fully a quarter of a mile from the nearest house of entertainment they found that the walk made them so excessively thirsty that it was unanimously christened “the dry stage,” a title it still retains to the present day; and between ourselves, there are many worse ways of passing away an hour than a visit to the above place in the evening, as in the first instance, you have an opportunity of cultivating a thirst that you would not sell to a lushington for less than a “fiver,” and secondly, there are two of the nicest and brightest girls one could wish to meet, ever ready to entertain visitors with a musical treat such as one rarely hears, and certainly never expects, in such an out-of-the-way place.

It was on a Tuesday morning at 4 o’clock when I was woke up to make ready for the journey to Croydon, as Cobb and Co.’s coach starts punctually at 6. An appetising breakfast was placed upon the table shortly after 5, to which we pay strict attention, and, with luggage packed, are at the booking office shortly before the time appointed, where a regular rush ensues for seats, there being ten applicants for the eight places on the coach; but having taken the precaution to wire from Brisbane for a box seat I am all right, having for my mate Mr. B. Cribb, the others managing to stow away somehow, one riding on the footboard, another on top of the coach and six inside, whilst fully half a ton of mails are stowed away on the rack, on top and in the boot, which with passengers’ luggage makes altogether a tidy load for our team of five horses.

Some little delay occurs through the absence of a break-block, it being unsafe to proceed without that very necessary adjunct to our safety, but at length we get properly fixed, and steering for the river are soon safely on the punt and being towed across to the other side, all hands being requested to alight during the operation for fear of an accident.

We get across all right, and stowing ourselves on board get fairly under way for the diggings, and I am pleased to find we are in charge of a very experienced whip in the person of Jack Lennard, a well-known driver in times gone by on the Namoi River, in New South Wales, where he used to tool the coach between Narrabri and Walgett for Bob Nowland, at the time he was running opposition to M‘Namara, Vickery and Co., when passengers were carried 150 miles for £1. We swap yarns about old times, and many are the anxious enquiries Jack makes about old friends, many of whom have gone over to the great majority since he left that part of the country, and his heart fairly warms as I give him the latest news concerning those still left behind.

Our route lies through miserable-looking country, the principal features consisting of level teatree flats, with patches of quinine and coolabah, all of stunted growth, scattered throughout with here and there noisome-looking swamps, at some of which we observe carriers camped, whilst the sound of the bells on their horses and bullocks resound on every side, there being over 150 teams on the stretch of road 120 miles in length, between Normanton and Croydon. The dust as we proceed becomes something frightful, in fact, in all my travels I never saw anything like it, as it is inches deep everywhere on the tracks, smothers the trees and bushes by the roadside, and follows us throughout the journey like a cloud, settling on our clothes, burying itself in our hair, finding its way into our boots, and penetrating to our lungs in the most aggravating manner, and we are not sorry for a short respite obtained at one of the carriers’ camps abovementioned, as Jack, who seems to be universally well known, observes some goats being milked, and pulling up his team produces a whisky bottle, and with the addition of some fresh milk begged from the carrier’s wife, concocts a very welcome refresher. We pass enormous flocks of crows, who seem to hang to the roads in a very suggestive manner; pass some very lengthy bullock teams containing from 18 to 24 bullocks, all in very fair condition and in some instances really fat, and following the course of the Carron River, arrive at the Twenty-mile, our first stage out, where we change horses, have a cup of tea, and shortly afterwards are again speeding on our way, the road improving as we proceed, although the dust is as bad as ever, whilst there is also a slight change for the better in the appearance of the country. We soon rattle over this stage, it being only 15 miles in length, at the end of which we are told dinner awaits us, but on this occasion are doomed to disappointment, as the driver has forgotten to bring along any beef, consequently we have to be satisfied with a liquor up and a smoke, and a bite of chocolate cake which one of our party has taken the precaution to bring with him from “La belle France.” However, the hostess makes a cup of tea, which proves very refreshing and helps to clear the dust out of our throats. This place is well named The Rocky, there being some beautifully clear holes of water in the creek surrounded by rocks, and it is evidently a favorite camping ground for travellers, many of whom have turned out in the vicinity. We indulge in a little revolver practice here. One of our party hangs his overcoat on a bush and wagers that another of the party cannot hit it at 15 paces, but the coat suffers, and as the horses have not yet been put to we start for a walk along the road, partly to escape the dust and partly to stretch our muscles, and succeed in throwing four miles behind us before we are overtaken by the coach, which for this stage has a good although rather mixed team harnessed to it, there being two grand horses for leaders, whilst the wheelers are a couple of likely looking mules, who slip along with us at a very fair rate of speed.

We pull up for a few minutes at Munro’s, have a refresher and away, shortly afterwards meeting a carrier, who, with the proverbial Queensland hospitality, invites us one and all to “have a booze,” at the same time producing a bottle of the real “Mackay,” but as we have no water with which to dilute it, we have to pass, and shortly afterwards pull up at our stopping-place for the night--a fairly comfortable hotel kept by Mrs. Paterson--where we obtain a plentiful supply of water to enable us to get rid of the dust--a good supper of wild duck being in the meantime prepared, to which you may rest assured we paid strict attention when placed upon the table.

The Croydon coach meets us here, and after solving the problem of stowing away fifteen passengers in six rooms, we are very soon safe in the arms of “Murphy,” and sleep the sleep of the just until daybreak next morning, when the cry of “All aboard!” rouses us to prepare for another day’s journey. After a hearty breakfast we make an early start, with a change of drivers, Jack taking the back track to Normanton, our whip turning out to be a genuine specimen of a “Frenchman” from the Emerald Isle, named “Barney,” who is a real gem in his way, and enlivens the journey by many quaint remarks, and more especially by the way in which he renders the chorus of two or three popular songs, his performance of “Jack’s come home to-day” being simply indescribable.

As the track on this stage has again become very heavy we have a five-head team, four horses and a mule, the latter getting fits from Barney, and being continually sneered at as “Irish,” for “shure, yez know, the divil a bit o’ good is he, the spalpeen,” but we manage to get along very well, and at about 10 o’clock arrive at Mother Foot’s Lagoon, a grand sheet of water 18ft. in depth in the deepest part, and which has never been known to fail in the driest seasons.

There is a nice, clean-looking hotel here kept by Mr. Griffin, formerly well known about St. George, and some distance away on the bank of the lagoon the irrepressible Chinaman has settled down and formed a very fair garden, with the produce of which he supplies carriers and travellers, as well as the hotel.

Between the hotel and the Chinaman’s garden I come across a spot where repose the last remains of poor old Frank Stubley, at one time one of the richest miners in Charters Towers, and a man well known and esteemed throughout the whole of Northern Queensland for his liberality and generosity. He lies at the foot of a box tree, a short distance from the water’s edge, and on the tree is carved the following inscription:--

+-----------------------------+
| SACRED |
| |
| TO |
| |
| F. STUBLEY’S |
| |
| MEMORY. |
+-----------------------------+

“J. Gill, 7th May, 1887.”

Poor fellow! He died at last in poverty, but I with many others can safely say that he was no one’s enemy but his own.

We have a bit of trouble at this stage as the groom is as drunk as an owl. There are no horses in for a change and the team we have been driving is pretty well tired, but we fix the nosebags on them in case we have to go further, and in the meantime scour the country in the immediate vicinity to try and discover the missing mokes; but all efforts are fruitless, and after a spell of a couple of hours we again yoke up and proceed upon our way--leaving the drunken groom riding around in a vain endeavour to discover the objects of his search. We managed to nail one fresh nag, which did not belong to the firm and had never been in harness before, so were treated to a bit of life at starting, as he bucked and kicked, mixing himself up in the traces and going nearly mad; but he eventually kicked himself clear and away we went, Barney being quite equal to the occasion.

The dust still brings forth curses both loud and deep, but the country gradually improves, although still of very poor character, and we meet on the way many carriers, some of whom are accompanied by their wives.

Our team by this time, through having to run the double stage, is getting nearly done, so shortly after leaving Creen Creek most of us get out and walk the distance between there and the Carron River, a good four miles stretch, that under the warm rays of a tropical sun increases our temperature considerably; the tedium of the journey being now and then varied by the remarks of such carriers we pass on the road, who call each others attention to the style of locomotion adopted by the passengers per Cobb and Co. The crossing of the Carron is very heavy, being a bed of deep, wet sand, so that all hands have to alight, but the change is only a few yards distant, and we are very pleased to see a fresh team awaiting our arrival, as we are all pretty well baked, and in no humor for another long stretch on foot. So while the fresh horses are being put to, we stroll over to the tent occupied by the groom and his wife, where we find a “drop of the craytur” and a very acceptable cup of tea. The road, after leaving the river, is very heavy for about eight miles, consequently our progress is but slow, and it is nearly sundown before we get on to better travelling country; but Barney here lets them slip, so that we get over the ground pretty rapidly, although it is nearly dark when we cross the “12 mile,” where we discern a range of hills on our left, being the first elevation we have seen since leaving Normanton. Six miles from Croydon we pass the Golden Gate, a very suggestive and appropriate name for the first claim met with on the main road to the field, but as it is now very dark, and the track is full of ruts, stumps and other obstacles, we have to proceed very slowly and carefully for fear of accident, there being no lamps on the coach to guide us on our way.

Two or three miles from Croydon we cross Station Creek, where there is a very good waterhole, into which “Barney” drives for the purpose of giving his horses a drink, water being rather a scarce article in the town itself. We get a bit mixed with a couple of stumps between here and the town, but extricate ourselves safely at length, and shortly afterwards we come in sight of the lights of Croydon twinkling ahead, pulling up in a few minutes to deliver the mails at the post-office, from whence we proceed down the main street, and about 9 p.m. we finally alight at our journey’s end on the verandah of Harries and M‘Cabe’s Imperial Hotel, where a large crowd is assembled to witness our arrival. Host M‘Cabe turns out to be a very old friend whom I had lost sight of for some years, and consequently we were mutually pleased to renew our former acquaintance, and for my own part I felt delighted to meet some one in a new country like this whom I had formerly known so well, as it made me feel quite at home from the start.

A good bath and a good supper soon put everything to rights, and the fatigues of the journey are soon forgotten, so we stroll round to the ballroom, where about 12 couples are enjoying themselves on the light fantastic, the fair sex being especially conspicuous by their dresses and good looks.

Strolling round next morning I was very much struck by the inconvenience and delay caused by the inadequate provision made for the public when seeking letters or telegrams at the hovel that at present does duty for a post-office. Just imagine a crowd of people waiting outside a pigeon-hole cut in a sheet of galvanised iron, at which one person only can be attended to at a time, with an individual inside attending to their wants who is just about as slow as they make them on earth, and who certainly might materially improve his performance of letter-sorting 100 per cent. by practising shuffling and dealing with a pack of cards in his leisure moments.

A friend of mine said to him one day--

“Did you ever attend a funeral?”

“Yes. Why do you ask?”

“Well, I was wondering if you did, how on earth you managed to keep up with the procession.”

And I wondered as well, after calling two or three times at the office for letters.