quarter-acre of ground the store occupied being granted at the rate
of eight pounds per acre, I secured the title-deeds of it, and made
up my mind to sell out, which I had very little difficulty in doing.
Storekeeping at Mount Alexander in those days was a very profitable
occupation—to wit, the success of Sargood and Sons; and more
particularly the “pot” of money realised by Joshua Brothers in a few
days only.
One of these young gentlemen, on his way from Melbourne, was overtaken
on the road by the heavy rains of June, 1851. He at once took in the
position and turned back to the city, where he found that the rate
of carriage to the goldfields had risen _five hundred per cent._ He
started straight for the Mount. I was the first storekeeper on the
road upon whom he tried his hand. Knowing that he had interests in
several stores on the diggings, I did not hesitate to sell him a large
quantity of flour, sugar, tea, &c., for which he offered me what I
considered a very handsome price. The contract drawn and deposit paid,
he rode off at full speed to make similar bargains in every store on
his way. When the news reached us that _two shillings a pound_ had to
be paid for carriage, we had to _deal_ with Mr. Joshua to cancel the
purchase! It was a fair and above-board transaction, but the result
was a fine “haul” for that firm, the eldest of whom was hardly out of
his teens.
As I remarked previously, all the money made at the diggings was not
made by the gold diggers. In those days, before the discovery of
quartz-reefing, the work was confined to alluvial working and simple
gold-washing. Some large finds occurred—here and there large nuggets,
weighing even up to one hundredweight, have been recorded—but as a
rule it was hard work and poor pay. Gold buyers, storekeepers, and
more especially sly-grog shops, made the most money. They certainly
made it more easily than the poor diggers, who in many instances
met in those dens, and under the baneful effects of drink became an
easy prey of sharpers, often confederates of the people who kept
the sly-grog shanties. The police made occasional raids on these
places, when the owners were taken up and the shanty burnt down
without judgment. In many cases the flames destroyed, besides the
“stock-in-trade,” large sums of money “planted” in the tent or the
bark roof of the hut.
When I returned to Melbourne I found the city in a state of
transition. From a small country town it had in a couple of years
grown into a thoroughly Yankee settlement. Buildings had sprung up,
and were being hurriedly put up, in every direction. Canvas-town had
become Emerald Hill, Sandridge was a continuation of Melbourne towards
Hobson’s Bay, whilst Collingwood, Hotham, Jolimont, and Richmond on
either side formed an uninterrupted line of streets with the original
metropolitan thoroughfares. Everything was bustle and business. After
my stay at the goldfields and rustication at Sawpit Gully, I once more
craved for a ramble over the wide world, more particularly for that
_Dolce far niente_ which can only be found on board ship and the broad
expanse of the ocean.
[Illustration]
NEW CALEDONIA.
[Illustration]
I.
_TAKING POSSESSION: “TIT FOR TAT.”_
A few weeks after my return to Sydney, private news came to hand that
the French Government contemplated taking possession of New Caledonia.
Admiral Février Despointes made an appointment with us to meet him at
Port St. Vincent at a given date, with a supply of coals, stores, live
stock, &c. I chartered the Athenian, an old East Indiaman, and the
Pocklington, a Newcastle collier, and sailed for the rendezvous—a fine
harbour on the east coast of New Caledonia—where our arrival excited
some astonishment amongst the natives, being the first ships they had
seen since Captain Cook’s last visit in 1779.
We had to lay there a fortnight before the Catinat—a smart steam
corvette—made her appearance with the admiral’s flag at the fore.
We sailed in company for the Isle of Pines—off the southern end of
New Caledonia—where the Marists’ Catholic Mission had an established
station. On the morning of the 19th of September, 1853, Sir Everard
Home arrived at the Isle of Pines on board the Calliope. Visits were
exchanged between the two men-of-war. During his call Sir Everard
committed the same blunder which thirty years before caused the loss
of New Zealand to France—he mentioned before us that his instructions
were to take possession of New Caledonia in the name of Her Majesty’s
Government. With the assistance of the French missionaries the chiefs
of the island were mustered, a deed drawn up during the day, and at
daylight on the 20th we read the proclamation, hoisted the tricolor
flag on shore, and saluted it with a salvo of 21 guns from the Catinat.
Poor old Sir Everard never got over the shock. He sailed for Sydney,
and died during the passage; while the French admiral steamed for
Balade, a port on the N.W. coast of New Caledonia, where he repeated
the ceremony enacted at the Isle of Pines, thus securing the whole
group from any other Power’s aggression.
During our stay at Balade, and with a view to learn something of
the new country, we formed a party to visit the interior, more
particularly the extent of the “Giahot”—a broad stream which empties
itself into the sea west of Balade Harbour. Duly equipped and well
armed we started on our cruise. Eight officers of the French Navy,
Captain Case of the Athenian, four natives belonging to the French
Mission, and myself. We certainly thought that fourteen men would
be a sufficient number to cope with any number of savages, more
particularly in a part of the island where the missionaries had been
safely established for a couple of years already.
We sailed or pulled up stream for some twelve or fourteen miles,
until snags and shoals rendered the navigation tedious; and, moreover,
our orders were not to keep the boat after dark. Having ascertained by
observations that owing to the windings of the river we had reached a
point distant from Balade six miles by land, the natives assuring us
that they would guide us there in a couple of hours, we made up our
minds to land, send back the boat, explore the country, and camp when
night came.
The scenery was all that could be wished for; wild pigeons in
abundance; and for those in the party who were bent on botanising,
there was enough to engross their minds for weeks. During our journey
we occasionally came across natives, who seemed most ready to assist
us in every way, and at last prevailed upon us when night came on to
accept the offer of one of their houses to camp in for the night.
The New Caledonian dwelling is rather a peculiarly constructed hut,
very much like an elongated bee-hive, the only entrance, or, indeed,
opening of any kind, being a square hole—measuring about two feet each
way. In order to keep away the million of mosquitos which swarm after
dark, a fire is kept up all night in these huts, the apex of the roof
being the only outlet for the smoke, which the unfortunate natives
accept as the only alternative from being stung to death by the puny
tormentor. The only way to breathe in the huts is to lie down flat on
the floor, where, owing to the draft caused by the low door, about one
foot or fifteen inches of space is left free from the choking effect
of the smoke.
II.
“_HE WHO FIGHTS AND RUNS AWAY._”
During supper, which we took outside the hut, we were surrounded by
a gaping and chattering crowd of natives of both sexes and all ages.
The number increasing every moment, we began to feel that even armed
as we were, fourteen men would be but a small force as compared to
the hundreds around us. However, up to the time when we crept in to
our hut the behaviour of the Natives was as friendly as could be. Our
barter for spears, shells, necklaces, and other curios was carried on
fairly, and evidently to the satisfaction of all concerned.
At about ten o’clock we closed the aperture of the crib, lit our
cigars, took a stiff night-cap, and laid down to breathe as we best
could in the stifling smoke which filled the place. Sailors will sleep
anywhere and anyhow, so will Caledonian natives. In a few minutes the
snoring all around convinced me that I was the only watcher. What with
mosquitos and smoke I would certainly have kept awake all night, even
had I not been aroused as I was by a rustling noise in the straw wall
of the hut, and the black hand of a native trying to force his way
into our quarters.
As soon as his woolly head appeared, I seized it with one hand,
putting a revolver to his ear with the other. I dragged him through,
in so doing waking up my mates. Through the interpretation of one of
our Native catechists, we heard the boy’s story—that the Natives on
whose ground we were encamped had made up a plot to fire the grass
around our hut, and during the confusion into which we would be thrown
by their war whoop added to the conflagration, spear or tomahawk us,
in order to secure our trade goods and fire-arms, as well as the
supply of fresh meat half a score of European bodies would afford them.
There was not much time left us for either reflection or planning an
escape. We quickly crept out of the hut one by one, and found that the
information was not only correct, but the fires were already being
kindled in a large circle, of which we were the centre. The Natives
could be easily seen in large numbers on the outer side of the circle
of fire, the chief standing amongst a crowd—luckily for us on the
land side, leaving the path to the river bank comparatively free from
Natives. The chief held in his hand the insignia of office—a long
spear with a white shell on the end of it, which was quite descernible
by the glare of the blazing grass. We held a consultation as to the
best and most likely way to startle the savages, so as to make good
our retreat to the river, cross it, and make for Balade as speedily
as possible. Captain Case had in his hand a double-barrelled fowling
piece, with one rifle barrel. It was suggested that he should fire the
first shot in the air in order to draw the natives’ attention, and
with the rifle barrel take aim at the shell on the chief’s spear.
On that shot depended the lives of fourteen men, and I am bound to
say our friend’s calm and deliberate aim for that momentous shot
denoted a true British tar’s firmness. A crack, followed by a terrific
yell, told us that the scheme had succeeded. The natives in a body
gathered round their chief to see the wonderful destruction of his
talismanic shell, shattered into invisibility by Captain Case’s shot.
Before they could even notice our departure, we were making hasty
tracks for the water, following in the wake of our native guides,
whose marvellous instinct and thorough knowledge of the locality
proved quite as useful as our friend’s skill at a target. They found
not only the shortest path to the Giahot, but amongst the high reeds
on the banks of that stream several canoes, which we annexed to convey
our party across, and cut off communication with the wretches who had
so treacherously attempted to give us a warmer reception than we had
contemplated. When on the top of the range dividing the river from
Balade, we saw the glare of our own pyre, and heard the chattering and
yells of the fiends—caused, no doubt, by the discovery of the loss of
their canoes, and doubtless also that of the anticipated supper or
breakfast they had purposed having at our expense.
We reached the Mission at daybreak, and the same day fifty men, under
command of one of the lieutenants and one of our party, went back and
gave the Kanakas a lesson they have not forgotten to this day. The
boy who saved our lives was a lad of twelve or fourteen, intelligent
and bright. He gave a thorough explanation of the whole plot to the
Rev. Father Montrouzier, who, fearing that the boy’s life might be
endangered if he stayed on the island, induced me to take him away,
for a time, at all events, with the youngster’s sanction; and having
christened him “Joachim,” which he at once pronounced “Sokymy,” I
enlisted him in my service. A better, more useful servant, and more
faithful follower, I never had, for the seven years he lived with me.
Poor boy, like most of the South Sea Islanders, he died of pleurisy,
accelerated by exposure.
[Illustration]
III.
_ANOTHER NARROW SQUEAK._
Having discharged cargo, and parted from the Athenian and our gallant
friend, Captain Case, I removed my belongings to the Pocklington
and sailed for Sydney, intending to shorten the sail by trying a
short cut through a group of islands at the north-west end of New
Caledonia. Captain Oliver, who had often traded for sandal-wood in
this part of the world, assured me that this route was quite safe, and
that he had often sailed through the channel with vessels of deeper
draught. Our first two days’ navigation were glorious—smooth sea, fine
weather—sailing during the day amongst lovely islands, and anchoring
at night with every appearance of safety so long as a good watch was
kept on the natives’ canoes, which never failed to come alongside as
soon as the anchor was dropped.
My new valet, “Sokymy,” even at that early stage proved most useful
to us. Though he could not speak to us he knew well what the natives
said, and could easily enough make us understand that they had better
be kept at a distance.
On the second night the barometer fell considerably, and before
morning the wind chopped suddenly from S.E. to N.W., blowing hard
until it became almost a gale. The poor old brig began to drag
towards the shore. We let go another anchor, but still at every
successive wave which struck our bows we felt that sudden jerk
and grating noise which indicates the dragging of the anchor. The
distance between the stern of the Pocklington and the shore was
visibly decreasing—a fact which evidently became quite as apparent
to the natives on shore as it did to us on board, who felt by no
means reassured when we noticed the exulting jubilation of the
cannibals—evidently reckoning on immediate plunder and feasting! The
position was critical, the danger imminent, the prospect anything but
cheering.
Captain Oliver, like my friend Captain Case of the Athenian, was cast
in the mould which has produced so many heroes in the British Navy—men
in whom sterling worth only comes to light in moments of danger. The
critical position of the brig demanded immediate action. Our crew
consisted of a dozen Tanna natives, with only three Europeans on board
besides the skipper, the mate, the cook, the steward, and myself. We
were barely fifty yards from the beach, where hundreds of natives,
already up to their waist in water, were throwing spears at any one
whose head appeared above the taffrail.
Captain Oliver got us to bring up a hawser on to the deck. This was
made fast round the foot of the main-mast; a freshly-ground axe was
placed in my hands; orders given to get the jib and spanker ready for
hoisting and sheeting home; the hawser made fast to the chain of one
anchor, whilst the other was cast adrift. This hawser being amidships,
the brig at once swung round; the spanker being sheeted tight gave
the craft some headway; the jib being hoisted she got under way, and
the order was given to chop the hawser.
Had my blow at this piece of hemp failed to sever it through, this
book would never have been written. As it was, the poor old brig and
its living freight had a very narrow shave. As we paid off slightly to
get more way on her she grazed the coral reef on the lee side, but,
however, got clear, and a few moments later we had the gratification
to feel that we were in deep water, under close-reefed topsails,
making headway towards Australia. We reached Sydney in a week, none
the worse for having on two occasions disappointed the natives of New
Caledonia, and deprived them of what might have been a three-course
dinner. In both instances they would have had French, English, and
native dishes—quite a _recherche_ menu for a cannibal’s feast.
[Illustration]
IV.
_A SOUTH SEA TRIP._
“A rolling stone gathers no moss.” I am afraid I have proved the
truth of the old adage. A fortnight in Sydney proved quite as much
as I could stand. I always had a great desire to see Torres Straits
and the islands on the northern side of it. There happened to be in
Port Jackson a small French barque—Le Juste, from Havre—the captain
being the owner of the vessel. I made an offer to him of a charter
by the month for six months, giving him a share of the venture, my
route being Torres Straits, New Guinea, Borneo, the Malay Archipelago,
Mauritius, Bourbon, Madagascar, and back to Sydney. Being nearly as
mad as I was, Captain Leneveu accepted my offer. We at once set to
work, put on board a few brass swivel guns, some muskets and small
arms, articles of South Sea Island trade; and, as was then the custom
for a trip through the Straits, waited a few days until other ships
bent on the same dangerous errand were ready to start.
On the 28th of June, everything being ready, we started northwards—the
Scotia, one of Dunbar’s old East India ships—leading the van, followed
by our barque, and two smaller craft bound for the Strait Settlements.
Fine weather and smooth water brought us in eleven days to the Great
Barrier Reef, which we passed safely, anchoring at night off Bird’s
Island.
Captain Strickland, as commodore, entertained us gloriously on board
the Scotia to commemorate our safe passage through the Barrier and bid
_us_ farewell—our course being north for the coast of New Guinea at
daybreak next morning.
Navigating on the west side of the Barrier Reef is quite a pleasure
trip as far as sea or weather are concerned; the only trouble, at
least in the “fifties,” was the very imperfect hydrography of the
locality, and the great caution sailors had to resort to in order to
avoid the innumerable coral reefs and submarine dangers, which can
only be avoided by a very careful watch from the foretop, where a man
had constantly to be on the look-out.
Our first land was at Darnley Island, where we met the first Papus,
some having a smattering of pigeon English. We engaged one of them
to pilot us to the mouth of the Fly river, which we made out easily
without ever having recourse to our sable friend, who seemed quite
happy on board so long as he could keep within range of the galley
and have the lion’s share of every meal going, whether cuddy or
fore-castle. The fellow seemed to have the most capacious appetite,
was an inveterate smoker, and certainly anything but a total
abstainer. It is a marvellous thing how all natives take naturally and
_kindly_ to smoking tobacco and drinking ardent spirits.
Anchoring close to Kiwai Island, we were at once boarded by scores
of natives, and did a fair amount of trading for curios, shells, and
arms, but nothing of any commercial value. Some of the clubs had
specs of yellow metal inlaid in the handles; treatment with _aqua
fortis_ proved this metal to be gold. From inquiries made through the
very imperfect interpretation of our pilot and my New Caledonian,
Sokymy, we gathered that this gold was found a long way up the Fly
river. All my entreaties with Captain Leneveu to sail up the river in
one of the boats could not prevail upon him to concede the favour. As
he very justly said, it would be unsafe both for him or I to take away
one half of the crew to man the boat, leaving the other on board with
only a few hands—there being always, and in spite of us, some scores
of natives on our decks, besides hundreds hovering round in canoes. We
had a few runs on shore, but did not dare to lose sight of the boats.
After a couple of days wasted at this anchorage, we dropped our Papu
friend and steered west, coasting New Guinea as closely as the skipper
deemed it prudent to do, and dropping anchor every afternoon when the
sun prevented our look-out man from seeing the colour of the water
ahead of the ship. We called at the Arrow Islands with about the same
success, all trading being confined to curios and some tortoise-shell.
So far our trip, though a most enjoyable one, was rather unprofitable.
I therefore made up my mind that we should make a direct course for
Timor.
Continuing our pleasurable sail—more like yachting on a lake than a
sea voyage—we reached the pretty Dutch settlement at Koepang. I had
some letters of credit for Messrs. Hansen, Bonliang & Co., a firm half
Dutch, half Chinese; and also a letter to the Resident or Governor
of the place. In 1854, Koepang was not often visited by traders. The
Juste was a very smart little ship; we had a very nice cabin, a good
cook, fair wines, and the captain a _bon vivant_, so that ere we had
been in Timor many days we had managed to gain a very fair footing
with the inhabitants of Koepang.
Our boats, provided with awnings, were kept constantly plying to and
from the shore, laden with visitors of all ranks and both sexes.
Shooting and fishing parties were organised, pic-nics and dinner
parties without end were given in our honour. But the most enjoyable
were riding-parties by moonlight, on those wonderfully active ponies
for which this island is justly famous.
We purchased here some tons of bees-wax, some very fair coffee, maize,
and a large quantity of lime, which proved a very good investment for
Mauritius. My intention, however, being to take a cargo of ponies,
we took an interpreter (or broker) on board and sailed for Roti,
Sandalwood, and the other small islands of the group, to trade for
ponies—Koepang having already been pretty well skinned of anything
good in that line. Even in the other islands I found it very hard
to pick up more than eighty of average size, quality, or colour—the
piebald or skewbald being in any quantity, but black, bays, chestnuts,
and more particularly greys, were very scarce. The latter are the most
valued, either to buy or sell. It took us three weeks to make up our
number, but the days were enjoyably spent in hunting with the natives
after the herd, and buying as we went along.
Horse-dealing, whether in Europe or the Malay islands is synonymous
with roguery and deceit. Every morning as soon as we landed we were
besieged by natives who had ponies for sale. Knowing our aversion for
piebalds, they never offered anything but blacks, bays, or chestnuts;
but, unfortunately, few if any of those offered could stand the first
scrubbing with hot water and soap—the dye would not stand the test. As
to filing teeth and burning age-marks, I’ll back a Malay against the
best and most accomplished horse-dealer in Yorkshire.
Our cargo, put on board with fodder and water for fifty days, averaged
£4 a-head. They were all good, healthy young ponies, some of them
rather cranky-tempered, but all well up to the mark. Having returned
to Koepang to land our broker, and after a most affectionate greeting
from all our friends, we made sail for Port Louis. Another fine
weather and smooth sea trip, when we never once lowered a stan’-sail
except to reeve a fresh halyard to prevent its breaking from constant
friction in the one place, against the sheave of the block at the
yard-arm.
This is not a work intended to describe localities which, more
particularly since _my_ day, have been visited by almost every man,
woman, or child who has come from or gone for a trip to Europe. I will
therefore abstain from descanting on the beauty or picturesqueness of
Mauritius. Still, to those who have only known the Isle of France of
late years, I must say that it materially differs from what it was
thirty-five years ago, and that even then it had very much lost of
its originality as I had seen it ten years earlier. For all that, it
is a most charming place; and were it not that its old, proverbially
healthy condition has gone for ever—were it not for cholera, smallpox,
and other such dreadful but periodical visitations—that island would
still be a most charming country to visit or reside in. We spent six
weeks in Port Louis, did remarkably well with our cargo, bought a
cargo of sugar, and once more steered for old Australia.
But alas! not with smooth weather and fair winds. The poor old barque,
so buoyant and brisk when in yachting trim, smooth water, and under
every inch of canvas spread to the trade winds—became a tub when
filled with sugar to the very deck-level, in heavy seas, S.W. gales,
and close-reefed topsails.