Yarra, with the big ships lying snugly alongside of the substantial
wharves, and realise what a vast change, in that aspect of Melbourne
at any rate, has been wrought since my last visit, when where what is
now a splendid area of water accommodation for ships of great size up
to a draught of 24 feet, and a most up-to-date congeries of warehouses,
wharves, bridges, embankments, and factories, was an apparently
hopeless muddle of quaint huts and swampy land, out of which it seemed
impossible that order could ever emerge. In those days almost every
one spoke contemptuously of the Yarra as an insignificant creek which
it was folly to waste money upon in the attempt to make it navigable
for vessels of any size, and the pet project was a huge breakwater
extending from Williamstown to Sandridge (now Port Melbourne) enclosing
the whole of the bay between, including, of course, the embouchure of
the Yarra. Around the whole of the coast of this bay was to run a line
of deep-water wharfage, alongside of which ships of any tonnage might
lie in perfect quiet as in a vast dock. This scheme was fully matured
and presented in practical form to the existing Victorian Government by
Sir John Coode, but its magnitude of conception, and, of course, its
cost, staggered them. So they compromised on the Yarra improvements,
with the result that the old piers are still used for the accommodation
of the largest ships at Port Melbourne itself, and so they must lie at
the piers in what is, owing to the great size of Hobson's Bay, quite an
open and unprotected roadstead during certain winds.
But though Hobson's Bay is so noble in area it is not too well off in
the matter of depth, and ships drawing over 25 feet have to be most
carefully navigated within its limits. More than that, the great ships
of the White Star Line which trade here from England around the Cape
are terribly handicapped by the fact that if they were loaded to their
full paying capacity they could not get out of Hobson's Bay at all,
owing to the want of depth at Port Phillip Heads. Strange, is it not,
that at two such important points of ocean traffic as Suez and Port
Phillip want of water should so long be allowed to hinder development,
especially when it is remembered that there are no real engineering
difficulties in the way? But of course it must never be forgotten that
all really great public works in this country are heavily handicapped
by the artificial restraints placed upon development by the restriction
of population and consequently of revenue. All great schemes mean great
expenditure, and with a population in the whole of this vast country
of less than five millions this is impossible. Moreover, at present we
have the grave spectacle of a declining birth-rate and an increasing
emigration rate, a state of things which, in a country so full of
natural wealth as this, is almost inexplicable. At present almost all
politicians are agreed that the future of the country depends entirely
upon her getting more population, but I do not see anything being done
that will really tempt desirable immigrants who have no capital.
This, however, is a question which confronts the visitor at every turn,
and so must be dealt with in small doses lest it become monotonous. At
present I am anxious to get out and see Melbourne itself, wondering
whether I shall notice as great a change in the city as I do in the
development of the Yarra. As I step out into the noble width of Bourke
Street, in full enjoyment of the glorious crisp morning (for the
weather is still perfect), the hotel porter greets me with, "Very cold
this morning, sir," to which I only mumble unintelligibly in reply, for
I really cannot say anything uncomplimentary to this lovely climate. A
double tramcar without seats on top comes swiftly up the hill from the
river-bank, and I jump on, noticing as I do that it is a cable-car. The
pace is good, the road splendidly wide and straight, giving a view,
when you are at its highest point, clear from one end to the other,
a distance of about two miles. But I get a shock when I have to pay
threepence for a ride of about half a mile; for there are no sections,
as in most other places. Within certain limits of what may be called
the metropolitan area the price is threepence any distance; but you may
purchase eight tickets for a shilling, each of which will frank you for
a threepenny ride.
I do not think, however, that the average man saves much in this way,
since it is a very common form of hospitality, when acquaintances meet
on a car, to say, as hands go groping in pockets, "Oh, all right,
I've got tickets!" and hand the conductor two. Outside the city limits
these tickets are not available, but the fare remains the same. These
very swift and comfortable cars are in the hands of private companies,
who, I should think, must make a fine dividend, although it must be
remembered that the wages are high and the service exceedingly good,
commencing at 5.30 or 6 in the morning, and running most frequently
until midnight. And as the city is built on the American square plan,
with all the principal streets crossing one another at right angles,
locomotion is very easy within the city limits.
My first trip was down Bourke Street, which I remembered thirty-five
years ago as the principal, the finest street in Melbourne; and I
confess that I was somewhat disappointed with its unequal appearance
and the dearth of fine buildings, for I had expected, from what
I had heard, much greater development. The Post Office is a fine
building, but not so favourably situated as that at Adelaide, so
that, notwithstanding its fine tower and _façade_, it will not look
imposing. Moreover, it is obviously much too small for the requirements
of Melbourne, for there is a mean-looking shed devoted to telephone
work; and for parcel-post delivery of _poste restante_ letters and
money-order business the customer must go a considerable distance
round into little Bourke Street of unsavoury fame. Before leaving this
part of the question, let me say that nothing, I should think, would
strike the British new chum more forcibly than the immense congeries of
telegraphic, telephone, and other wires carried on posts at the sides
of all the principal streets of the Australian cities, in emulation
of the way these things are done in the United States. In Perth and
Fremantle there are, in addition to the other cobwebby arrangements
overhead, electric-car wires, and I could not help wondering what would
be the result if one of these enormously high-tension car wires were to
get broken and flung into the midst of a lot of telegraph and telephone
wires by its side, especially on a night when the streets were crowded,
as they often are, with people.
Adelaide is, as I have said before, still in the thrall of the mediæval
horse-car, wherein, if she did but know it, she is behind the smallest
provincial town in England and some of the districts of London, so
that at present she has nought to fear from so dire a catastrophe.
Melbourne is served, as I have also said, with cable-cars, and for the
life of me I cannot see why she should want anything better, especially
as there is no question of linking up. I have been told that the cost
of the upkeep of the cables is much greater than that of electrical
power, but when I humbly inquire what the cost of conversion will be I
am met with vague generalities. A little bird has whispered to me that
when I get to Sydney I shall know the reason, which is that Sydney has
converted her cable-cars into trolley electrics, and Melbourne, feeling
a back number on this question, is of course furious, and must ante-up.
You remember in the "Naulahka" how cheerfully, whole-heartedly, and
venomously the two rival cities, Rustler and Topaz, hated one another?
Even so do the rival cities in Australia in like manner disobey
the greatest commandment of all, and, remembering the misdirected
affections of Liverpool and Manchester, I cannot throw any stones.
Let me return to a subject that I can unreservedly praise Melbourne
for--the magnificent paving and grading of her main streets. It is,
to my mind, a most effectual mark of high civilisation when the roads
of a city are well laid and well cleansed, especially when, as in
Melbourne, they are such noble thoroughfares. There is an immense
traffic both on side-walks and in the roadway in Melbourne, but the
condition of both _trottoir_ and road is above reproach, even better
than in Paris, which is to those who know, high praise. It would amuse
our keen urchins who, in the City of London, dart about in the midst of
the complications of the wheels and the clattering of hoofs with their
exaggerated dustpans and hard brooms collecting the dung, to see their
opposite numbers in Melbourne with a slightly bigger pan mounted on a
pair of wheels and having a handle attached, doing the same work in a
much more leisurely but effectual fashion. They would, however, say as
I said, "That kind of contraption wouldn't work at all opposite the
Mansion House." And, of course, they would deride the effort to make
things easier, as men and boys always do.
I have, however, arrived at Elizabeth Street, which runs at right
angles to Bourke Street and only stops at the Yarra Bank or Flinders
Street, and I am at once convinced of the growth and splendour of
Melbourne. The shops are superb, the buildings are beautifully and
splendidly built, and the crowds of people are immense. But--there
is always a but, somehow--I am saddened to see outside the numerous
drink-shops or hotels a disfigurement of hurriedly printed telegrams
from the racecourses, of the day's racing, the odds, and the results
of all that infernal literature that saps the very soul of a nation.
Tattersall's is a name apparently to conjure with, every foul-mouthed
dirty-handed filcher of other men's earnings calls himself a
Tattersall's saloon or a Tattersall's bar, until I wonder what old
Tatt, who was, I believe, a gentleman anyhow, would have said had he
seen to what base uses his honoured name would be put. Forgive me for
referring to this so frequently, but it is so thrust down your throat
at every turn that it is impossible to avoid saying something about it,
and sorrowing over its effect upon the people all around you.
I turned down Elizabeth Street toward the river, and was staggered
at the density of the crowds. It was 11 a.m., and the people were
thick as bees swarming; not loafing about, either, but moving as if
they had business somewhere. And the shops, those sure indications of
prosperity, were quite comparable with any that I have seen anywhere,
especially those devoted to jewellery, photography, drapery, and
books! This must be a reading community indeed, for I do not remember
having seen anything anywhere like Cole's Book Arcade or the Straider
Libraries, where people go to buy books, not to borrow them. But I
thought pitifully of authors' royalties, which at home are 1s. 3d.
or 1s. 6d. on a book which is sold for 4s. 6d., and out here are
threepence or fourpence on the same book sold at 2s. 6d. or 3s. 6d.
This, however, being a matter only concerning those who write books,
will not interest the general public, who appear to imagine that the
author is fed and clothed and housed miraculously and ought not to
expect payment for writing, but ought rather to carry about a ton or so
of his books for glad distribution to every one that asks for them.
Yes, Elizabeth Street was an eye-opener to me, who remember it in the
days of long thirty-five years ago. It is of course unequal, quite
small and unpretentious buildings cheek by jowl with mighty erections,
but no more so than Oxford Street, which indeed it much resembles
at the river end, except for the permanent shelters over the wide
pavements so that people shopping on foot are protected from the sun
or the rain, and for the never-ending flight of the cable-cars. It is
true that there are no emporia comparable to Marshall & Snelgrove's,
D. H. Evans & Co., Waring's, or John Lewis's, but that is not to be
expected, remembering that we are in a city with about the population
of Islington. But turning the corner of Elizabeth Street into Collins
Street you get a vista of commercial buildings that for solidity,
beauty, and also architectural effect may safely challenge comparison
with any town or city in the old country, with the added advantage
of having a splendidly wide and straight street of a couple of miles
in length to show them off in. The only city at home that can compare
advantageously with Melbourne as far as Collins, Elizabeth, and
Swanston Streets are concerned, is Glasgow, and of course Glasgow has
an immense advantage in point of size. On the other hand, Melbourne
scores heavily in the matter of atmosphere and cleanliness. Yet, I do
not know how it is, the great public buildings of Melbourne, with the
exception of the Parliament Buildings, suffer greatly from their sites,
which do not allow them to be seen as they should be. But there again
we in London can say little, for some of our finest buildings have
been hidden away so that they may hardly be seen to any advantage at
all. And this, of course, is also the case in most of our great cities
except in certain favoured spots, such as the view of the Houses of
Parliament from the river, the Government offices of St. James's Park,
St. George's Hall and its surroundings in Liverpool, &c., &c.
Yet when we get down to bed-rock facts it is perfectly certain that
Collins Street, Melbourne, is a thoroughfare that no city even of ten
times Melbourne's age need be ashamed of, and it is marvellous how
with so small a population in the rest of the State it has been built
and is kept bustling. The site of the city is not beautiful, nor has
it any lovely setting such as Adelaide possesses, but from the point
of view of traffic it is splendid, as there are no hills anywhere
to be negotiated, and consequently the railways and tramways can be
most economically laid. In fact, so low is the whole plain upon which
Melbourne and its great network of suburbs stand that I found myself
asking several people if they ever had any trouble with abnormally
high tides, if the Yarra never misbehaved itself. But they all said
no, since the embankments have been built there does not appear to
have been any trouble with floods. I can remember very well when much
of what is now covered with beautiful houses and gardens was a barren
waste of sand, to walk upon which in summer was torment. Indeed, I
noticed even now that in the principal streets of some of the most
prosperous suburbs around the bay there was an abundance of sea-sand,
which certainly had not blown there. Of course, there is the comforting
reflection that Melbourne is not on the sea, and that any great oceanic
disturbance on the coast must spend itself against the protecting
barrier of the Heads of Hobson's Bay, so that, failing any abnormal
upheaval within the great bay itself, there is not much likelihood of
any disastrous flood, in spite of the low level of the ground. Of
which I am heartily glad, for it is a noble city--a worthy monument to
the energy and enterprise of our fellows across the sea.
VII
SOME FLEETING COMPARISONS
This is a paradoxical country in many ways. For instance, while wages
are high in the cities and the cost of living is amazingly cheap,
the prices of certain articles jump up and metaphorically knock you
down. For instance, I was the other day admiring some magnificent
lobsters (crawfish) in a fishmonger's window, freshly boiled and
steaming, ticketed 1s. 6d. each. Such crustacea of equal size in London
certainly could not be purchased for 5s. each, while for quality,
flavour, and tenderness the English lobster is not within sight of
the Australian variety. The prices of fruit and vegetables I have
already alluded to in their phenomenal lowness, while the standard
price of tea, the national beverage far more than with us, is 1s. 3d.
per pound. If you wish for something very special you pay 1s. 6d., but
few do. But walking away from those lobsters and the announcement
that a _table-d'hote_ dinner of three courses might be purchased for
sixpence, the price which has not varied apparently since I was here
thirty-five years ago in respectable eating-houses, I bethought me that
I needed a button-hook. And since I am exceedingly gifted at losing
such small articles, I sought for a cheap one. I soon found one of the
shops which are very common out here, a sort of variety store where
you can purchase almost anything in the way of small non-perishable
articles, and proffered my request. The attendant immediately produced
one such as are sold on cards at home for six a penny. I took it and
said it would do exactly. How much? "Sixpence," he responded promptly;
whereupon I gasped, and then laughed heartily. He inquired rather
anxiously what I was laughing at, and when I told him he was angry, and
said he hadn't asked for my custom. Whereupon we parted.
On another occasion I went to one of the beautiful bays close to the
Heads and hired a boat to go fishing. I was out for four hours by
myself, and when I returned and asked what I had to pay I was told two
shillings. Which I naturally compared with the two and sixpence an hour
charge at our watering-places at home and wondered at consumedly.
There is a good deal of poverty, undoubtedly, of a certain kind, and
must be more than I have had any opportunity of ascertaining within
the working-class localities. But I do not think there is any hunger,
provisions being so very plentiful and cheap. It is curious, however,
to see the rough, unkempt, hard-bitten men and women who mix with the
busy throng in the principal thoroughfares, and look wistfully around
them as if seeking sympathy and companionship. They have fled from the
loneliness of the back country, and in the great, bustling city have
found a greater solitude than ever. Now and then may be met in Collins,
Elizabeth, or Swanston Streets, a swagman, usually old and grey, with
his ragged bluey or blanket-wrapped bundle slung at his back, and his
battered, soot-encrusted billy (tin tea-can) in his hand; just as much
out of place in that busy, bustling throng, as any unit of it would be
in the great solitudes whose message of mystery seems to peer out of
his eyes. Occasionally one of these men will camp in some doorway, and
on being arrested will plead, with an air of innocent wonder, that he
was not aware of wrongdoing, seeing that for the whole of his life he
had lived and slept in the open, and had never been arrested for it
before. But I should say that the majority of the swagmen now, those
at any rate who are found in the vicinity of the towns, are blood
brothers of the hobo in the United States and the tramp in our country,
nomads whose one characteristic is an utter aversion to work and whose
one virtue is a love of the open. The old days when the honest splitter
or shearer or farm-hand, the bushman of any kind, had perforce to hump
his bluey and pad off on the wallaby track in search of work when his
job was done, or he got tired of it, are practically gone except in
the remote districts of this vast continent, whose denizens rarely see
civilisation at all.
Neither in Adelaide or here in Melbourne have I seen any begging except
by a couple of blind men, although there are a good many ragged,
barefooted urchins running about in the vicinity of the railway
stations selling evening newspapers. There is, however, an obvious
overcrowding of the folks who ought to be in the country into the
towns; and really it is not to be wondered at, seeing how many of those
who come out here are entirely unused to and unfitted for a country
life, and especially life in a new country. Which, of course, accounts
for the lack of development of this amazing continent. The converse of
this equally accounts for the advance of Canada, in that she welcomes
those who have never known anything but the hard and grinding life
necessary for wresting from wild nature the wealth that she holds in
trust for the children of men, and who learn with a surprise that it
takes much time to mitigate, that their earnings will not be snatched
from them by force and fraud--who have looked, indeed, for nothing
else but just the barest means of existence as the result of their
incessant, terrible labours. Australia will have none of these, and as
a consequence that mighty land is as yet barely scratched. Of what use
can it be to advertise for farmers with capital to come to Australia
and take up rich lands at a low price, if the labour to till and
develop those lands is not to be had except at a price that precludes
any idea of profit?
I make these remarks in no carping spirit, but when I see that there
is a general tendency in the Press to grumble at the fishing being
in the hands of Italians, and gardening in the grip of the Chinese,
while at the same time talking of the wondrous wealth of the country
awaiting development, I am filled with wonder at the curious turn of
mind that imagines that you can keep a vast continent in the hands of
a few people and yet exploit its resources--a process which they know
can only be accomplished by much manual labour. The results which have
already been achieved by the few are a sufficient proof of the amazing
richness of the country, but with a sufficiency of the white labour
which is craving for work and bread in the old countries what a mighty
uprising of this great Commonwealth we should see! The cry now is all
for population, but no provision is made for the obtaining of the
proper kind of population--people that are willing to work, and are all
unused to or demoralised by city life, but lack the means of crossing
the immense distance which separates them from the starvation of the
old land and the plenty of the new.
Moreover, this question of the white immigration is the only one of
any importance before the Australasian politicians just now. The
answer to it, free passages hither for white men willing to work on
the land, British preferably, but white anyhow, is the only one that
will satisfactorily meet the demand, never lost sight of, for a white
Australia. A most desirable, an intensely reasonable demand, but one
impossible of attainment unless white men of no means but their strong
bodies can be assisted to get here as they are to Canada. No one wants
to see a yellow Australia, but unless something is done speedily it
will not be possible to avoid having a large part of Australia yellow
within a very few years. Indeed I have great and grave doubts whether
it will be possible to avoid it at all; because there is not the
slightest use in blinking the fact that an immense area of the extreme
north of Australia is not a white man's country. He may own it, but he
cannot work it; and of what use is land without labour? It is the whole
question of the Transvaal and Rhodesia over again, but in a more acute
and decided form. Those regions are of incalculable wealth, but they
must have men to work them who can stand the climate.
Those men, the very men for the business, are clamouring to be allowed
to come in, and it is a most serious question how much longer will
the Commonwealth Government be able to keep them out. They are quite
within reason in pointing out as they do that even the vast southern
half or three-quarters of the continent where white men can both live
and work, is practically unoccupied except in a few isolated spots, and
to keep them out of land which they do not wish to possess but only to
have the privilege of earning a living upon, is most dog-in-the-manger
like. It may sound like an exaggeration to speak of Australia as being
practically unoccupied save in a few isolated spots, but it is quite
true. When we remember that Australia alone is immensely larger than
the United States, and that the whole of her population is not much
more than that of the City of New York, we feel inclined to stand
aghast at such a state of affairs.