overland to a bight in the bay to the west. The gear was divided
into lots among the men, and consisted of ten oars, two steer-oars,
two tubs of whale line each 120 fathoms in length, two fifty-pound
anchors, four harpoons, six lances, six lance warps, two tomahawks,
two water kegs, two piggins for balers, two sheath knives, and two
oil-stones for touching up the lances when they became dull. These
were carried for about a quarter of a mile, and then put down for a
rest, and the men went back to the camp. The boats were much lighter
than the gear, being made of only half-inch plank. One boat was
capsized bottom up, and the men took it on their shoulders, six on
each side, the tallest men being placed in the middle on account of
the shear of the boat, and it was carried about half a mile past the
gear. They then returned for the other boat, and in this way brought
everything to the bight close to the spot where the bathing house at
Warrnambool has since been erected. There they launched the boats,
and got out to sea, pulling against a strong westerly breeze.
The men were very weak, having had nothing to eat for four days but
some sow thistles and a musk duck, and the pull to Port Fairy was
hard and long. They landed about four o'clock in the afternoon, and
Captain Mills told them not to eat anything, saying he would give
them something better. At that time there was a liquor called "black
strap," brought out in the convict ships for the use of the
prisoners, and it was sold with the ships' surplus stores in Sydney
and Hobarton. Mills had some of it at Port Fairy. He now put a
kettle full of it on the fire, and when it was warmed gave each man a
half a pint to begin with. He then told them to go and get supper,
and afterwards he gave each of them another half pint.
Rum was in those days a very profitable article of commerce, and the
trade in it was monopolised by the Government officers, civil and
military. Like flour in the back settlements of the United States,
it was reckoned "ekal to cash," and was made to do the office of the
pagoda tree in India, which rained dollars at every shake.
The boat that was lost by Smith at the Hopkins was found in good
condition, half filled with sand. Joe Wilson went for it afterwards,
and brought it back to Port Fairy. He was a native of Sydney, and
nephew of Raibey of Launceston, and was murdered not long afterwards
at the White Hills. He was sent by Raibey on horseback to Hobarton
to buy the revenue cutter 'Charlotte', which had been advertised for
sale. He was shot by a man who was waiting for him behind a tree.
He fell from his horse, and although he begged hard for his life, the
man beat out his brains with the gun. The murderer took all the
money Wilson had, which was only one five-pound note, the number of
which Raibey knew. A woman tried to pass it in Launceston, and her
statements led to the discovery and conviction of the murderer, who
was hanged in chains at the White Hills, and the gibbet remained
there for many years.
WHALING.
"I wish I were in Portland Bay,
Oh, yes, Oh!
Harpooning whales on a thirtieth lay,
A hundred years ago."
In the year 1837, J. B. Mills had charge of the Portland Fishery, and
Davy went with him in the 'Thistle' schooner as mate and navigator,
and they were over a month on the passage. Charles Mills was second
in command at the station at Portland, and Peter Coakley, an
Irishman, was third; the remainder of the crew required for whaling
was on board the 'Thistle'. Among them was one named McCann, a
Sydney native, a stonemason by trade, and father of the McCann who
was afterwards member of Parliament for Geelong. During a westerly
gale the schooner ran to Western Port for shelter. In sailing
through the Rip, McCann, who was acting as steward, while going aft
to the cabin, had to cross over a colonial sofa which was lashed on
deck. Instead of stepping over it gently, he made a jump, and the
vessel lurching at the same time, he went clean overboard. Davy, who
was standing by the man at the helm, told him to put the helm down
and let the vessel come to. He then ran forward and got a steer-oar
from underneath the boots, and threw it overboard. McCann, being an
expert swimmer, swam to the oar, a boat was launched, four men got
into it, picked him up, and brought him aboard again none the worse.
There was too much sea on to hoist in the boat, as there were no
davits, and while she was being towed in she ran ahead of the vessel,
which went over her and filled her with water. On arriving in
Western Port the boat was found to have been not much damaged. There
was on board the 'Thistle' an apprentice whom Davy had stolen in
Sydney after he had served four years of his time to a boat-builder
named Green. This apprentice repaired the boat, which afterwards
proved to be the fastest out of forty-one boats that went out whaling
in Portland Bay every morning.
There were in 1837 eight parties of whalers in Portland Bay, and so
many whales were killed that the business from that year declined and
became unprofitable. Mills' party in the 'Thistle' schooner, of
which Davy was mate and navigator, or nurse to Mills, who was not a
trained seaman, had their station at Single Corner; Kelly's party was
stationed at the neck of land where the breakwater has been
constructed. Then there were Dutton's party, with the barque
'African'; Nicholson's, with the barque 'Cheviot', from Hobarton;
Chamberlain's, with the barque 'William the Fourth', of Hobarton; the
'Hope' barque, and a brig, both from Sydney. The Hentys also had a
whaling station at Double Corner, and by offering to supply their men
with fresh meat three times a week, obtained the pick of the whalers.
Their head men were Johnny Brennan, John Moles, and Jim Long,
natives of Sydney or Tasmania, and all three good whalers.
When the 'Thistle' arrived at Portland Bay every other party had got
nearly one hundred tuns of oil each, and Mills' party had none. He
started out next morning, choosing the boat which had picked up
McCann at Western Port, and killed one whale, which turned out six
tuns of oil. He did not get any more for three weeks, being very
unlucky. After getting the schooner ready for cutting in, Davy went
to steer the boat for Charles Mills, and always got in a mess among
the whales, being either capsized or stove in among so many boats.
At the end of three weeks Captain Mills got a whale off the second
river, halfway round towards Port Fairy. She was taken in tow with
the three boats, and after two days' towing, she was anchored within
half-a-mile of the schooner in Portland Bay, and the men went ashore.
During the night a gale of wind came on from the south-west, and the
whale, being a bit stale and high out of the water, drove ashore at
the Bluff, a little way past Henty's house.
In the morning Mills said he would go and see what he could get from
her on the beach, and ordered his brother, Charles Mills, and Coakley
to go out looking for whales. All the boats used to go out before
daylight, and dodge one another round the Bay for miles. It was cold
work sitting in the boats. The men stayed out until ten or eleven
o'clock, and went ashore that day on the Convincing Ground, which was
so-called because the whalers used to go down there to fight, and
convince one another who was the best man.
In the afternoon, about two o'clock, it was Davy's turn to go up a
tree to look for whales. In looking round the Bay towards the Bluff,
he saw a boat with a whiff on. He jumped down, and told Charles
Mills, who said: "Come on." there was a great rush of all the
boats, but Mills' boat kept well forward of the lot. When they
arrived off the Bluff they found Captain Mills had fastened to a
whale, two other loose whales being near. They pulled up alongside
him, and he pointed out a loose whale, to which they fastened.
Mansfield, of the Hobarton party, fastened to the third whale. Davy
came aft to the steer-oar, and Charles Mills went forward to kill his
whale. He had hardly got the lance in his hand when the whale threw
herself right athwart the nose of the boat. He then sent the lance
right into her and killed her stone dead. Mansfield, in hauling up
his whale got on top of Captain Mills' whale, which stove in
Mansfield's boat, and sent all his men flying in the air. There was
a rush then to pick up the men. Charles Mills, finding his whale
dead, struck a whiff in the lance-hole he had made when he killed
her, cut the line that was fast to her, and bent it on to another
spare iron. Mansfield's whale then milled round and came right on to
Charles Mills' boat, and he fastened to her. This gave him a claim
of one half of her, so that Mills and his men got two and a half out
of the three whales. The men were all picked up. Mills' whales were
anchored about half-a-mile from the schooner, and the boats went out
next morning and took them in tow.
The whales tow very easily when fresh killed, but if they are allowed
to get stiff their fins stand out and hinder the towing. When the
two whales were brought alongside the schooner, the boats of Kelly's
party were seen fast to a whale off Black Nose Point. Charles Mills
pulled over, and when he arrived he found a loose whale, Mansfield
and Chase being fast to two other whales. Mills fastened to the
loose whale, and then the three whales fouled the three lines, and
rolled them all together like a warp, which made it difficult to kill
them. After the men had pulled up on them for some time with the
oars, two of them began spouting blood and sickened, and Chase's boat
got on to them and capsized. Then the whales took to running, and
Mansfield cut his line to pick up Chase and his crew. Mansfield's
whale being sick, went in a flurry and died. Mills' whale and
Chase's worked together until Mills killed his whale; he then whiffed
her and fastened to Chase's whale, which gave him a claim for half,
and he killed her; so that his party got one and a-half out of the
three whales. Chase and his crew were all picked up.
From that day the luck of Mills and his party turned, and they could
not try out fast enough. In four months from the time the 'Thistle'
left Launceston she had on board two hundred and forty tuns of oil.
In the year 1836, the Hentys had a few cattle running behind the
Bluff when Major Mitchell arrived overland from Sydney, and reported
good country to the north. They then brought over more cattle from
Launceston, and stocked a station.
The first beast killed by the Hentys for their whalers was a heifer,
and the carcase, divided into two parts, was suspended from the
flagstaff at their house. It could be seen from afar by the men who
were pulling across the bay in their boats, and they knew that
Henty's men were going to feed on fresh meat, while all the rest were
eating such awful stuff as Yankee pork and salt horse. The very
sight of the two sides of the heifer suspended at the flagstaff was
an unendurable insult and mockery to the carnivorous whalers, and an
incitement to larceny. Davy Fermaner was steering one of the boats,
and he exclaimed: "There, they are flashing the fresh meat to us.
They would look foolish if they lost it to-night."
There was feasting and revelry that night at Single Corner. Hungry
men were sharpening their sheath-knives with steel, and cutting up a
side of beef. A large fire was burning, and on the glowing coals,
and in every frying-pan rich steaks were fizzing and hissing. It was
like a feast of heroes, and lasted long through the night. They sang
responsively, like gentle shepherds--shepherds of the ocean fields
whose flocks were mighty whales:
"Mother, the butcher's brought the meat,
What shall I do with it?
Fry the flesh, and broil the bones,
And make a pudding of the su-et."
Next morning the Hentys looked for the missing beef up the flagstaff,
and along the shore of the ever-sounding ocean, but their search was
vain. They suspected that the men of Kelly's party were the thieves,
but these all looked as stupid, ignorant, and innocent as the adverse
circumstances would permit. There was no evidence against them to be
found; the beef was eaten and the bones were burned and buried.
Mills' men were the beef lifters, and some of Kelly's men helped them
to eat it.
The whales killed at the Portland fishery were of two kinds, the
right or black whale, and the sperm whale. The right whale has an
immense tongue, and lives by suction, the food being a kind of small
shrimp. When in a flurry--that is, when she has received her
death-stroke with the lance--she goes round in a circle, working
with her head and flukes. The sperm whales feed on squid, which they
bite, and when in a flurry they work with the head and flukes, and
with the mouth open, and often crush the boats.
After the crew of the 'Thistle' had spent their money, they were
taken back to Port Fairy for the purpose of stripping bark, a large
quantity of wattle trees having been found in the neighbouring
country. Sheep were also taken there in charge of Mr. J. Murphy, who
intended to form a station. John Griffiths also sent over his
father, Jonathan, who had been a carpenter on board the first
man-of-war that had arrived at Port Jackson, three old men who had
been prisoners, four bullocks, a plough, and some seed potatoes. A
cargo of the previous season's bark was put into the 'Thistle', and
on her return to Launceston, was transferred to the 'Rhoda' brig,
Captain Rolls, bound for London. More sheep and provisions were then
taken in the 'Thistle', and after they were landed at Port Fairy,
another cargo of bark was put on board. For three days there was no
wind, and a tremendous sea setting in from the south-east, the
schooner could not leave the bay. On the night of December 24th a
gale of wind came on from the south-east; one chain parted, and after
riding until three o'clock in the morning of Christmas Day, the other
chain also parted. The vessel drew eight feet, and was lying in
between three and four fathoms of water. As soon as the second chain
broke, Davy went up on the fore-yard and cut the gaskets of the
foresail. The schooner grounded in the trough of sea, but when she
rose the foresail was down, and she paid off before the wind. The
shore was about a mile, or a mile and a half distant, and she took
the beach right abreast of a sheep yard, where her wreck now lies.
The men got ashore in safety, but all the cargo was lost.
A tent was pitched on shore near the wreck, but as there was no
vessel in the bay by which they could return to Launceston, the four
men, Captain Mills, D. Fermaner, Charles Ferris, and Richard
Jennings, on December 31st, 1837, set sail in a whaleboat for Port
Philip. Davy had stolen Jennings from the 'Rhoda' brig at
Launceston, when seamen were scarce. He was afterwards a pilot at
Port Philip, and was buried at Williamstown.
The whaleboat reached Port Philip on January 3rd, 1838, having got
through the Rip on the night of the 2nd. Ferris was the only man of
the crew who had been in before, he having gone in with Batman, in
the 'Rebecca' cutter, Captain Baldwin. Baldwin was afterwards before
the mast in the 'Elizabeth' schooner; he was a clever man, but fond
of drink.
The whaleboat anchored off Portsea, but the men did not land for fear
of the blacks.
At daylight Davy landed to look for water, but could not find any;
and there were only three pints in the water-bag. The wind being
from the north, the boat was pulled over to Mud Island, and the men
went ashore to make tea with the three pints of water. Davy walked
about the island, and found a rookery of small mackerel-gulls and a
great quantity of their eggs in the sand. He broke a number of them,
and found that the light-coloured eggs were good, and that the dark
ones had birds in them. He took off his shirt, tied the sleeves
together, bagged a lot of the eggs, and carried them back to the
camp. Mills broke the best of them into the great pot, and the eggs
and water mixed together and boiled made about a quart for each man.
After breakfast the wind shifted to the southward, and the 'Henry'
brig, from Launceston, Captain Whiting, ran in, bound to Point Henry
with sheep; but before Mills and his men could get away from Mud
Island the brig had passed. They pulled and sailed after her, but
did not overtake her until she arrived off the point where Batman
first settled, now called Port Arlington; at that time they called
the place Indented Heads.
When the whaleboat came near the brig to ask for water, two or three
muskets were levelled at the men over the bulwarks, and they were
told to keep off, or they would be shot. At that time a boat's crew
of prisoners had escaped from Melbourne in a whale boat, and the
ship-wrecked men were suspected as the runaways. But one of the crew
of the 'Henry', named Jack Macdonald, looked over the side, and
seeing Davy in the boat, asked him what they had done with the
schooner 'Thistle', and they told him they had lost her at Port Fairy.
Captain Whiting asked Macdonald if he knew them, and on being
informed that they were the captain and crew of the schooner
'Thistle', he invited them on board and supplied them with a good
dinner. They went on to Point Henry in the brig, and assisted in
landing the sheep.
Batman was at that time in Melbourne. Davy had seen him before in
Launceston. After discharging the sheep the brig proceeded to
Gellibrand's Point, and as Captain Whiting wanted to go up to
Melbourne, the men pulled him up the Yarra in their whaleboat.
Fawkner's Hotel at that time was above the site of the present
customs House, and was built with broad paling. Mills and Whiting
stayed there that night, Davy and the other two men being invited to
a small public-house kept by a man named Burke, a little way down
Little Flinders Street, where they were made very comfortable.
Next day they went back to the brig 'Henry', and started for Launceston.
In May, 1838, Davy was made master of the schooner 'Elizabeth', and
took in her a cargo of sheep, and landed them at Port Fairy. The
three old convicts whom Griffiths had sent there along with his
father Jonathan, had planted four or five acres of potatoes at a
place called Goose Lagoon, about two miles behind the township. The
crop was a very large one, from fifteen to twenty tons to the acre,
and Davy had received orders to take in fifty tons of the potatoes,
and to sell them in South Australia. He did so, and after four days'
passage went ashore at the port, offered the potatoes for sale, and
sold twenty tons at 22 pounds 10 shillings per ton. On going ashore
again next morning, he was offered 20 pounds per ton for the
remainder, and he sold them at that price.
On the same day the 'Nelson' brig, from Hobarton, arrived with one
hundred tons of potatoes, but she could not sell them, as Davy had
fully stocked the market. He was paid for the potatoes in gold by
the two men who bought them.
He went up to the new city of Adelaide. All the buildings were of
the earliest style of architecture, and were made of tea-tree and
sods, or of reeds dabbed together with mud. The hotels had no
signboards, but it was easy to find them by the heaps of bottles
outside. Kangaroo flesh was 1s. 6d. a pound, but grog was cheap.
Davy was looking for a shipmate named Richard Ralph, who was then the
principal architect and builder in the city. He found him erecting
homes for the immigrants out of reeds and mud. He was paid 10 pounds
or 12 pounds for each building. He was also hunting kangaroo and
selling meat. He was married to a lady immigrant, and on the whole
appeared to be very comfortable and prosperous. Davy gave the lady a
five-shilling piece to go and fetch a bottle of gin, and was
surprised when she came back bringing two bottles of gin and 3s.
change. In the settlement the necessaries of life were dear, but the
luxuries were cheap. If a man could not afford to buy kangaroo beef
and potatoes, he could live sumptuously on gin. Davy walked back to
the port the same evening, and next day took in ballast, which was
mud dug out among the mangroves.
He arrived at Launceston in four days, and then went as coasting
pilot of the barque 'Belinda', bound to Port Fairy to take in oil for
London. The barque took in 100 head of cattle, the first that were
landed at Port Fairy. He then went to Port Philip, and was employed
in lightering cargo up the Yarra, and in ferrying between
Williamstown and the beach now called Port Melbourne. He took out
the first boatman's licence issued, and has the brass badge, No. 1,
still. Vessels at that time had to be warped up the Yarra from below
Humbug Reach, as no wind could get at the topsails, on account of the
high tea-tree on the banks.
OUT WEST IN 1849.
I did not travel as a capitalist, far from it. I went up the
Mississippi as a deck passenger, sleeping at night sometimes on
planks, at other times on bags of oats piled on the deck about six
feet high. The mate of a Mississippi boat is always a bully and
every now and then he came along with a deck-hand carrying a lamp,
and requested us to come down. He said it was "agen the rules of the
boat to sleep on oats"; but we kept on breaking the rules as much as
possible.
Above the mouth of the Ohio the river bank on the Missouri side is
high, rocky, and picturesque. I longed to be the owner of a farm up
there, and of a modest cottage overlooking the Father of Waters. I
said, "If there's peace and plenty to be had in this world, the heart
that is humble might hope for it here," and then the very first
village visible was called "Vide Poche." It is now a suburb of St.
Louis.
I took a passage on another boat up the Illinois river. There was a
very lordly man on the lower deck who was frequently "trailing his
coat." He had, in fact, no coat at all, only a grey flannel shirt
and nankeen trousers, but he was remarkably in want of a fight, and
anxious to find a man willing to be licked. He was a desperado of
the great river. We had heard and read of such men, of their
reckless daring and deadly fights; but we were peaceful people; we
had come out west to make a living, and therefore did not want to be
killed. When the desperado came near we looked the other way.
There was a party of five immigrant Englishmen sitting on their
luggage. One of them was very strongly built, a likely match for the
bully, and a deck-hand pointing to him said:
"Jack, do you know what that Englishman says about you?"
"No, what does he say?"
"He says he don't think you are of much account with all your brag.
Reckons he could lick you in a couple of minutes."
Uttering imprecations, Jack approached the Englishman, and dancing
about the deck, cleared the ring for the coming combat.
"Come on, you green-horn, and take your gruel. Here's the best man
on the river for you. You'll find him real grit."
The stranger sat still, said he was not a fighting man, and did not
want to quarrel with anybody.
Jack grew more ferocious than ever, and aimed a blow at the peaceful
man to persuade him to come on. He came on suddenly. The two men
were soon writhing together on the guard deck, and I was pleased to
observe the desperado was undermost. The Englishman was full of
fear, and was fighting for his life. He was doing it with great
earnestness. He was grasping the throat of his enemy tightly with
both hands, and pressing his thumbs on the wind-pipe. We could see
he was going to win in his own simple way, without any recourse to
science, and he would have done so very soon had he not been
interrupted. But as Jack was growing black in the face, the other
Englishmen began to pull at their mate, and tried to unlock his grip
on Jack's throat. It was not easy to do so. He held on to his man
to the very last, crying out: "Leave me alone till I do for him.
Man alive, don't you know the villain wants to murder me?"
The desperado lay for a while gulping and gasping on his bed of
glory, unable to rise. I observed patches of bloody skin hanging
loose on both sides of his neck when he staggered along the deck
towards the starboard sponson.
There was peace for a quarter of an hour. Then Jack's voice was
heard again. He had lost prestige, and was coming to recover it with
a bowie knife. He said:
"Where's that Britisher? I am going to cut his liver out."
The Englishman heard the threat, and said to him mates:
"I told you so! He means to murder me. Why didn't you leave me
alone when I had the fine holt of him?"
He then hurried away and ran upstairs to the saloon.
Jack followed to the foot of the ladder, and one wild-eyed young lady said:
"Look at the Englishman [he was sitting on a chair a few feet
distance]. Ain't he pale? Oh! the coward!"
She wanted to witness a real lively fight, and was disappointed. The
smell of blood seems grateful to the nostrils of both ladies and
gentlemen in the States. A butcher from St. Louis explained it thus:
"It's in the liver. Nine out of ten of the beasts I kill have liver
complaint. I am morally sartin I'd find the human livers just the
same if I examined them in any considerable quantity."
The captain came to the head of the stairs and descended to the deck.
He was tall and lanky and mild of speech. He said:
"Now, Jack, what are you going to do with that knife?"
"I am waiting to cut the liver out of that Englishman. Send him
down, Captain, till I finish the job."