THE PROMISED LAND.
I thought Townsville the hottest place I'd ever struck (I hadn't at that
time experienced a summer north wind in Melbourne; that pleasure was
reserved for the week I spent down south when I got married), and caught
myself finding points of similarity between it and Aden; rather unfairly
though, for later on I found Townsville to be not too bad at all; also
there are a lot more trees and green stuff than one would suppose,
looking at the place from seaward. On arrival we transhipped into
another little steamer running up to Cairns. Had time for a run round
town, and a raid on a fruit store; then all aboard! and away we went,
rushing frantically North at the furious speed of nine knots.
For a wonder our tub arrived in fairly decent time in Cairns, 6 a.m. to
be precise, and I had to fly round to collect my gear, and get up to the
station in time for the 7 a.m. Atherton train. I only got a fleeting
glimpse of Cairns on this occasion, but subsequent visits gave me the
impression of a rather warm but very pretty little town, with wide,
well-cared-for streets, some fine buildings, plenty of splendid old
shady trees, and innumerable gardens in a riot of tropical colour. The
mosquitoes are a bit hot though.
Our train, after passing through some swampy-looking, flat, scrubby
country, got into a teeming tropical wilderness of green. Houses
embosomed among cocoanut palms and mango trees--canefields, banana and
pineapple plantations line the railway on both sides. Pity though, as I
found afterwards, that such a large Chinese element is settled
hereabout. The heathen shouldn't have so much of such a brilliant,
beautiful Paradise.
After leaving Freshwater, the line starts to ascend. You look ahead, and
see the high range, with a huge cleft in it, up which the line goes--the
Barron Gorge. Here and there landslides disclose the rich red soil,
contrasting vividly with the lavish tropical green clothing every foot
of ground. The grade becomes steeper, and the panting engine seems to
have all her work cut out. Higher and higher, past a brilliant jungle of
wild mangoes, bananas, ferns, figs and strange beautiful flowers. Now
the great cliff towers hundreds of feet over our heads, and on the other
side is a sheer drop of more hundreds into the brawling torrent below.
Soon the tunnels start (eleven, I think it is) in quick succession.
The first voyagers along this line (I, of course, being one) stop out on
the platform. The sophisticated stay inside and close doors and windows.
We soon learn why, for in each tunnel we outsiders are subjected to a
machine-gun fire of hot cinders and flue from Puffing Billy ahead.
However, the glimpses of the Gorge, Cairns and the sea--'tween
tunnels--are well worth getting smutty for.
Now the tunnels are left behind at an elbow of the Gorge, and the view
from here is really magnificent. You must be six or seven hundred feet
above the river bed, and can view its sinuous course to the sea, through
the rich cultivated lands below, all bathed in the brilliant sunshine.
That white cluster is part of Cairns, and the huge blue plain of sea
makes a background to a picture hard to beat. There are several places
between this point and the Falls, where (provided one is not a lady) one
could lean out and spit 700 feet into the river, if you felt so inclined
or your pipe turned dog on you.
On the other side of the train a chaotic waste of huge grey
boulders--up, up, up--until you rick your neck looking to see how high
they do extend. Still the prolific vegetation, with different types
appearing now. The other side of the gorge from the river level to
summit, and right and left as far as you can see, is one unbroken,
close-packed mass of timber of a rather sombre sage-green foliage. Miles
upon miles of it--and still we import timber into this benighted
country. When will we get sense enough to hang instantly anyone
describing himself as an importer?
We cross several spider-web-looking trestle bridges, then pass the
lovely little Stoney Creek falls, streaming like a white lace curtain
into a limpid pool below, and so close to the train that after a heavy
rain storm the spray wets the carriages. A very sharp curve, past Red
Bluff, where the big landslide occurred some years ago; another curve
back, and we are in the Upper Gorge. Instantly a distinct drop in
temperature is apparent, and a cool refreshing breeze fans the heated
brow. A few minutes more brings us to the Barron Falls; so close that
seemingly one could jump from the carriage into the--well, the place
where the falling water ought to be, and is--in flood time only.
Ordinarily the falls are disappointing. All you see is a long, broad
slide of blue-grey, water-polished rock, going almost sheer down some
750 feet or so, with a few comparative trickles flowing down. See it in
flood though, in the early months of the year, and nothing could be
grander or more imposing. The train fairly rocks to the earth-shaking
crash of the mighty mass of water. The noise is literally stunning.
We are on the Tableland now--level country more or less right through to
Atherton. From Kuranda on it is somewhat monotonous forest country,
until after passing Rocky Creek I espied a cultivated plain, with a grey
wall of high timber, close, compact, apparently impenetrable--the
Scrublands at last!
My heart bounded as I looked at it. I had been told of its enormous
timber, with gruesome tales of accident and mischance falling it. When
you chopped trees from a springboard, I had been informed, you had one
foot in the grave, and the other on an orange peel. But it was so new
and enchanting to me. I wanted to get at it now! at once!
We were presently in the maize country. It looked beautiful. Miles of
waving, dark green, tasselled corn just cobbing. Past Tolga, then a
short ten minutes' run, and Atherton at last about one o'clock. I bolted
some lunch, then, with a map of the district I wanted to see first under
my arm, dived into the local Lands Office.
"I want to see this place, please. How do I get to it?"
"Oh, ah, yes! Not a bad district. Bit far out, but perhaps it _is_ the
nearest to the railway at present. Well, the Malanda train leaves at 3
p.m. Enquire for John Raynor at your station. He'll show you round."
"Oh, good. I can get to my station to-night easy?"
"Yes; there's a pub there. Just come up?"
"Only arrived this morning."
"Oh, well, glad to see you, and we hope you'll stop up here. Anything we
can do for you, you know----"
"Thanks. I'll remember. Good-day," and away I went.
Three o'clock couldn't come quick enough.... Into the train....
Cornfields again.... Tolga ... more corn ... thick belts of scrub close
aboard both sides. Then grass paddocks, with cattle knee-deep in the
rich herbage, gazing at us with round-eyed nonchalance as we rattled by.
Ah! So this is the famous Atherton country, eh? Well, it looks good.
Here's my station. Out I tumbled with my luggage. At last! I made my way
to the pub and enquired for Raynor, who was away, but would be back
to-morrow, so I put up there for the night. It was a rough shop in those
days. Some timber cutters and teamsters were in town (one pub and the
station), and most of them were half-seas over. Consequently it was
about 1 a.m. when I got to sleep. Never mind; to-day I would see my
selection. The country looked so good to me that I thought the devil
himself wouldn't drag me out of it.
If I could have seen the future! Well, I don't know. I think I'd have
gone on with it. Anyway, I'm glad I did. Who'd sell a farm to go to sea?