letter of introduction and circular notes. I had tried to obtain money
in Cooktown, but unfortunately walked into the bank at two minutes past
three. ‘Very sorry, sir,’ said a nicely dressed young man, ‘but it
is after three.’ ‘But I leave to-night.’ ‘Very sorry, sir,’ said the
nice young man. Although I did not see anyone in the bank, I concluded
that the young men had been very busy and required rest. It is a great
mistake to overtax one’s system, and I was delighted to find a set of
young men who respect their constitutions. In Townsville the story was
quite different. The trouble with the young men at Townsville was,
that they did not care about the identification of a stranger by his
signature. After trying four banks, I crossed the street to a furniture
shop, and had a look at myself in a large mirror. My face seemed pretty
much as usual, excepting perhaps a trifle anxious as to the prospect of
having to sleep in the streets that night. Anyhow, there was nothing
suspicious, so I went back to the Number One Bank to have another try.
‘We have not been advised,’ said they. ‘Great heavens,’ said I, ‘we
haven’t stamps enough in the country I come from to write letters of
advice to all the places printed on this letter. They would cost more
than the value of the draft.’ This seemed to strike him, and after
discussing the matter in another room, he said, ‘Well, if you will
bring some one here to identify you, we will let you have some money.’
In desperation I went to the captain of the steam-launch, who had
brought me ashore, who very kindly came to the bank, and, by signing
certain documents, made himself responsible. Not only did the young
men of Townsville make one feel both mean and mad, but they charged me
a heavy commission. Subsequently in my travels my notes were cashed
without questions, and without commissions. When the young men of the
smaller colonial banks know more about circular notes and banking
operations, they also will, perhaps, cash circular notes without
commissions and delays. It is hard on their employers that they should
send money from their doors. My mind being relieved by having twenty
sovereigns in my pocket, I strolled about the town. The street--for
there is only one main street in Townsville--contains several good
shops. Outside the town I heard that there were some public gardens,
but I had not time to reach them. In the distance, in all directions,
excepting towards the sea, there are some tolerably high hills, which
in one direction reach quite up to and overlook the town.
I stayed at the Imperial Hotel, a tolerably good sort of place, but
with little box-like bedrooms. The average Australian has no idea of
the comforts of what a European would call an ordinary hotel. Give him
beef, mutton, a solid pudding, and a room like a good-sized packing
case to sleep in, and he is contented,--anyhow he puts up with it.
That evening, while strolling in the streets, I was attracted by the
sound of revelry in an hotel. As the windows leading on to a veranda
were open, I walked in, took a seat, and acquiesced in the wishes of a
gentleman who commanded me to help myself. I make it a point never to
differ with gentlemen who are imperative on such points. If he had told
me to drink it out of a tin mug, and to like it, I do not think that
I should have opposed his wishes. At the piano there was a universal
genius who could play anything and everything that was called for. A
short conversation with my neighbour revealed the fact that we had both
been educated at the same school. This led to other acquaintances,
and by 12 p.m. I knew fifty (I here speak poetically) people who were
willing to identify me. After hearing a lot of music, many songs,
violent discussions as to how a Russian invasion was to be met, and
finally joining hands to sing ‘Auld Lang Syne,’ I got to bed about 2
a.m.
That morning I started at 8 a.m. by train to visit the mining district
and town of Charters Towers. The distance is between 80 and 90 miles.
The first thing I noticed was the dust. In fact the dust insisted
on being noticed. It went into your eyes, your ears, your nostrils,
your mouth, your pockets and your boots, as if you were to be buried.
Some of the trees in the gardens near the railway station were so
earthy, that they looked as if they had been planted root upwards.
Outside the town the country had an open park-like appearance. The
trees were the same old type which I saw at Port Darwin--scraggy gum
trees with white stems. There were also a few screw palms. Here and
there, there were plains covered with tombstone-like ant-hills. Along
the line there were posts marking every quarter mile. By observing
these I found that we were running a mile in from seventy to eighty
seconds. All the gradients were also marked. It did not take long
before I found that I was on a railway line, the engineer for which
had some originality. Part of the way I rode in a _coupé_ at the end
of the train and I could see what I left behind me. Sometimes I was
looking down a slope and sometimes up one. ‘Grand line this,’ said a
fellow-passenger. ‘Compensating grades they call them. Wait a bit, and
you’ll see some fun presently.’ It wasn’t very long that I waited. The
fun began at Reid’s River, where there was a slope of 1 in 25, down
to a bridge which was purposely made low in the centre, so that the
train could swoop down upon it and then by its impetus climb up the
other side. This sort of arrangement saved viaducts. There is another
good rush made at the Buredkin River. Here the bridge is said to be
too flat, and the train comes down upon it very like a thunderbolt. It
makes passengers quite nervous. When we commenced to lower ourselves
gently down the first of these slopes, which I could easily see by
craning my neck out of the window, I felt troubled. Very quietly the
speed became greater, and I felt my heart palpitating. Then the train
seemed to control the engine, and away we went with a lighting-like
rush down towards the bridge. At this point I drew in my head, and
prayed that the bridge was strong. It was just a rattle and a ‘whish’
and we were climbing the other side. We reached the top, panting and
puffing like a broken-winded horse. When the floods are on, the train
apparently charges down into the river,--the waters of which may have
run above the metals. There was a lot of this, so-called fun, on the
road. At the end of it, I felt that my days had been shortened by
nervous excitement. The great thing was to know how I was to get back.
I have travelled in America over high trestle work, when the engine has
crossed with the delicacy of a cat,--feeling every timber as it went
along,--not unlike Blondin on a tight rope. In Queensland you felt like
a shooting star passing through space. I think I prefer listening to
the squeaking of a rickety framework in America to the railway fun in
Queensland. At one place we were dragged by two engines, up a series of
steep inclines, called the ranges. At the time the line was being made
an old lady took a passage down the ranges in a trolly in company with
one of the engineers. The trolly got under weigh and took possession of
its two passengers, who had to lie down flat and hold on. ‘The trees,’
referring to the bush on either hand, said the old lady when relating
her adventures, ‘looked like one tree. Never had such a journey in
my life. Why, it didn’t stop until we were four miles past my house.
Further off home than when I started. Never catch me on them trollies
any more.’
The man who called this kind of travelling ‘fun’ was an insurance
agent. After some conversation he found out where I lived, and how
many years I had been there. Then he wanted to insure my life. He
informed me that he often got ‘cases’ in the train. With him a ‘case’
was the technical term for a man who is induced to pay a certain sum
of money to an Insurance Company. Another technicality with a similar
meaning was, I found, ‘a subject.’ ‘I live in an unhealthy climate,’ I
remarked. ‘Well, you say you have been there ten years, and taking you
as a sample I don’t mind insuring the whole of the inhabitants in that
part of the world.’
‘Look here, there is the doctor,’ and he pointed to a little old man
in the corner. The little old man said, ‘Yes; I’m the doctor, and
examine free.’ I felt I was being cornered. It was no good talking
about fevers, earthquakes, the difficulties of collecting his fees,
all that he wanted was the _first_ fee. As a last refuge I asked for a
prospectus, and told him I would consider the matter.
My having volunteered to consider the matter enabled him, by pointing
to me as a semi-convert, to introduce the subject of insurance to the
remaining passengers in the carriage, all of whom he would insure at
cheaper rates than any other company. By-and-bye a priest got into
the carriage. Old Insurance immediately wished him good-morning,
and after introducing him to each individual in the train as if he
had known them and all of us for years, entered into conversation
on the advantages of life insurance. In Charters Towers we stayed
at the same hotel. He often took a seat next to mine. When he sat
down to lunch the conversation usually commenced by, ‘Well, have you
considered the matter? You’ll never get such a chance again. Just
got six new “subjects” this morning, and expect to get four or five
more this afternoon. The doctor has been as busy as a bee; haven’t
you, doctor?’ The poor little doctor gave a sickly little smile, and
assented. Every day that I met Insurance, I felt that I was breaking
down. Had I remained in Charters Towers another week I must either
have allowed myself to be insured, or else have died from worry. The
doctor has probably succumbed. I never saw a man better cut out to be
led round and do as he was bidden. If Old Insurance had said to his
companion--‘Now dance, doctor--jump, doctor--say yes, doctor--stand on
your head, doctor,’ I believe the poor little man would have done his
best to comply with the orders. My pity for the doctor was very great.
It seems to be a common thing in Australia for insurance agents with
their doctors to be travelling in search of subjects. I subsequently
met one or two other sets of subject-hunters, but I never met with one
so determined either to kill or else insure you as my Charters Towers
acquaintance. The directors of his company ought to raise his pay. The
public ought to get him transported.
At Ravenswood Junction there are some experimental works for extracting
gold from its ores by chlorinization. From this point we might have
branched off to see some silver mines where ore is being smelted in one
of La Monte’s water jacket furnaces. It was nearly one o’clock when we
reached our journey’s end. Here the country was open and undulating.
There was a little brown grass to be seen, but no trees--at least,
near the town. The only thing to break the view were groups of houses,
huts, piles of white _débris_ (mullock), and tall poppet-heads. The
roads were white and dusty. In places the dust was six inches to a foot
in thickness, and so soft that you sank in it like mud. When a cart
passed, the cloud it raised rendered it invisible. In the house we
found preparations for races in progress. There were many book-makers
on the spot, and a lot of jockeys. Sometimes they used bad language
and hit each other. Mining first commenced as alluvium work. This was
about ten years ago. Now the work is all quartz-crushing. Everybody
talks about mining, morning, noon, and night, ‘The Day Dawn is running
14 ounces,’ says one man. ‘Fine body of ore in number two Queens,’
says another. ‘Seen the new heads at the Defiance, Jimmey?’ says a
third; and so it goes on until the uninitiated gets sick of mining.
When I was returning from Charters Towers I had to get in the train at
6 a.m. As it wasn’t light until about 7 a.m., I could only judge of
my fellow-companions by their conversation. In front of me there was
a most earnest discussion going on about particular claims. ‘One reef
would run four or five to the ton. After they got finished with their
new poppet-heads and got down a little deeper, things would be better,
etc.,’ etc. When daylight came, I found that all these technicalities
were being fired off by two small school-boys, respectively aged about
ten and twelve. The children at Charters Towers must be born with a
mania for quartz.
The majority of people can only talk about their own speciality, and
they quite ignore the feelings of outsiders who are compelled to listen
to their conversation. In Newfoundland everybody talks about codfish,
excepting for a month or so in spring, when they talk about seals. The
worst old talkers I have ever met have been antiquated skippers. Once
when crossing the Atlantic, the smoking-room was monopolized by three
old shell-backs who discussed reefing topsails, the qualifications of
the barques _Sarah Jane_ and _Mary Ann_, and other nautical matters, so
continually, that in less than two days no other passenger could remain
with them.
The gold at Charters Towers occurs in quartz veins or reefs. These,
instead of running through the slates in which it was once supposed was
the only proper place to expect gold, run through a kind of granite. Of
late years gold has been found in most unexpected quarters. Since being
in the Colonies I have seen it in calcite, and serpentine. The great
gold deposit of Mount Morgan is a mountain of siliceous iron-stone,
probably deposited by a geyser. At first it was thought that the
whole mountain was a solid mass of gold-bearing rock. Now, however, a
tunnel seems to have shown that it is only a skin or covering on the
outside of the hill where gold occurs. The ground originally belonged
to a young squatter named Donald Gordon. Donald suspected it might
contain minerals, and asked the opinion of a scientific professor. The
Professor said, ‘It is only iron-stone. Donald.’ Finally Donald sold
his mountain for £640. The people who bought it estimate its value at
£9,000,000. Poor Donald!
After getting the blocks of quartz, in which, as a rule, you can’t
see a speck of the precious metal, up to the surface, they are broken
in pieces with sledgehammers. They would use rock-breakers to do the
work, but as rock-breakers, like Chinamen, do away with European
labour, I imagine that they must have been tabooed--anyhow, I did not
see a rock-breaker. The broken quartz is next thrown into the iron
mortars, where heavy iron stampers are at work. When the quartz is
sufficiently fine, it escapes like so much muddy water through screens
in the front of the mortars, to flow over the surfaces of a series
of copper plates covered with mercury. Here a quantity of the gold
sticks to the mercury and amalgamates with it. From time to time these
plates are scraped, and the amalgam thus obtained is subsequently
distilled. Much gold, however, runs over the plates, and it is a great
problem as to how it is to be caught. At some mines it is caught on
rough blankets, which are stretched over an inclined plane forming a
continuation of the copper plates. Still, there is a certain quantity
of gold running away mixed with the water and the sand. This material
is usually concentrated, that is, it is caused to pass over some
machine where the light sand is washed away, and the gold, mixed with
iron pyrites and other materials, remains behind. This pyrites material
is then roasted and amalgamated in specially contrived amalgamators.
Sometimes it is treated chemically. The more rapidly these operations
are carried on, and the greater the flood of water employed to wash
the sand along, the more the fine gold escapes. All the escaping
water deposits its sediment in pits called slime pits, the contents
of which constitute tailings. At all quartz-crushing establishments,
you see mountain-like heaps of these tailings. They look like hills
of fine white sand. Some of them are sufficiently valuable to be sent
to Germany, where the gold, which the Australian miner has allowed to
run to waste, is extracted at a profit. Every mill you visit you are
told is the best mill in the Colonies, with the best methods and the
best machinery. When I looked at the enormous stamps, one could not
but think that it was like using Nasmyth’s hammers to crack walnuts.
When you saw the general want of automatic apparatus to break and feed
materials, you felt that mine proprietors were kind to workmen--who,
by-the-bye, usually get about ten shillings a day. When you saw the
floods of water tearing over the tables, and through the various
machines, you felt that those who sent their ore to the mills were
easily contented. I suppose there are reasons for all this, but they
were not explained. Notwithstanding all the gold which is washed away,
things are brisk. One gentleman was pointing out to me, who, at the
time of my visit, was making £1,000 a week. There were a theatre and a
circus in the town, and along half a mile of the main street I counted
twenty-two public-houses. Altogether there are about two thousand or
three thousand people in Charters Towers. On Sunday night I think I saw
nearly all of them. They spent the evening in parading up and down the
street in a very quiet and orderly manner.
At the hotel where I stayed, I had abundance to eat and drink. My
bedroom was only nine to ten feet square, and I had to share it with
another traveller.
I returned to Townsville the same way as I went. As I did not put my
head out at the valleys and bridges, I did not incur the same feelings
of insecurity from which I had suffered when going up. At Ravenswood
Junction we had a scramble for breakfast, that is to say for a cup
of coffee and a slab of steaming meat. Australians are fearfully
carnivorous. Each of them eats, at least, an acre of beefsteak every
year. This helps to make them big and strong. When I was in Melbourne,
some prisoners had been making public a complaint that they did not
get meat three times a day. They excited considerable sympathy. Just
as I was about to pay for my feed, a rough-looking miner gave me a
push, saying, ‘Shove that in your pocket.’ At the same time he threw
down four shillings on the table to settle for two. I did not argue the
matter with the gentleman.
At Townsville I found a launch waiting to carry me and sixty-one other
passengers off to the steamship _Warrego_. On board we found a number
more. It was an awful crush. The steamer was expensively fitted. If
they had spent the money in making her a few feet longer, instead
of spending it in fittings, we should have been more comfortable.
All the saloon and other rooms were lined with slabs of marble. It
was rather pretty, but too much like a bath-room. Here I heard very
much about mining, and a little about separation and Government
jobbery. At present Brisbane, at the extreme south of Queensland, is
the capital. Those who live in the north complain that they pay for
railways and other public works which they never see. There is too
much centralization in the south. What Northern Queensland requires is
separation and a capital at Townsville, then the money collected in the
north would be spent in the north. People at Charters Towers say that
Townsville is a fraud. It can never be made into a harbour, and their
railway ought to have terminated at Bowen, where there is a harbour.
The Townsville representatives have been too powerful, and they were
not going to lose the trade, which Charters Towers and other places
farther inland might bring them. Everybody who sends goods into the
interior, or brings them from the interior, can be beautifully squeezed
at Townsville. First, the Townsvillians collect dues for cartage from
the station to the end of the pier. They are too wise to let their
railway be carried to a place convenient for shipping. Next are the
dues for lighters out to the ships; and so it continues.
The people at Townsville are clever, and Townsville is rapidly
improving. About midnight we stopped at Bowen, but as it was dark I
kept in my berth. The next stoppage was at Mackay, where we discharged
a lot of passengers, and took in a batch to fill their places. The
coast was rocky, with islands and clumps of trees. Speaking generally
of our passengers, they were a rough lot. Nine out of ten of them wore
soft felt-hats, the brims of which they turned down. Most of them
smoked, expectorated on the deck, and jerked the ends of wax matches
and tobacco ash in all directions. The captain said that this was the
result of competition. It enabled third-class passengers to take a
saloon passage.
Australia is a land of wax matches. Everybody carries a box. There are
apparently certain points of etiquette to be observed in their use.
If you are lighting a pipe, and a gentleman asks for a light to his
cigarette, don’t give him the match which is burning, but dip your
finger in your pocket and let him strike a light of his own. It would
be more convenient to you and also to him to receive the light which is
burning, but that does not matter. When asked for a light, do not offer
your pipe or cigar, but offer a match. In South Australia I heard that
they were not considered safe, and only safety matches were allowed. My
experience is that they are equally dangerous--both may and do explode
on the slightest aggravation. An interesting series of stories might be
written on adventures with matches.
Next morning, at about half-past five, we reached Capel Bay, where
the passengers for Rockhampton disembarked. All the places down this
coast appear to be inaccessible to large steamers. They are situated
up rivers, and the rivers have bars. From this point the coast got
flatter. During the afternoon there was a little excitement by one
of the passengers having a fit; on his recovery I gave him, at his
own request, a glass of water and a Cockle’s pill. That night, at
about one a.m., there was a cry of ‘Fire! fire!’ shrieked through the
saloon. We all turned out, perhaps one hundred in all, men, women, and
children--in night dresses. The officers and, finally, the captain
appeared on the scene, and we found that it was the sick man wandering
about in a state of mental aberration. The captain ordered two stewards
to watch him. Shortly afterwards he went up the companion and out on
the port side. The stewards followed up the companion and out on the
starboard side. They expected to meet their charge on the deck. He,
however, was never found. We suppose he jumped overboard.
Early next morning we were at the mouth of the Brisbane River. On our
starboard bow we could see some remarkable-looking mountains called
the Glass Houses. One of them, which was called Mount Beerah, is 1,760
feet high. It looks like a very sharp regularly formed pyramid. From
its shape, and from the fact that round about it, places have names
alluding to volcanic materials it is probably of volcanic origin. It
is certainly a very remarkable natural needle. The river is at the
entrance very broad, and the land on the banks very flat. Here and
there are swamps and fringes of mangrove. As we get higher up we see
patches of sugar-cane and a few bananas. The river is muddy and full
of shoals. On the banks, the shoals, and floating on the water, there
are hundreds, and possibly thousands, of beacons and buoys. They help
to make up the scenery. As the channels are ever shifting, these
indices for navigators are shifted or multiplied. When an invader
approaches, the ordinary plan will be to remove or alter the position
of the guiding marks. At Brisbane it would be well to let everything
remain in _statu quo_, and if the enemy did not get wrecked, it might
be counted as a miracle. At one point there are earthworks forming a
fort. Here the river is closed by a boom of timbers. A portion in the
centre is left open for the passage of vessels. All these military
preparations are due to the expectation of a war with Russia. Even
the smallest place in Queensland has done something to beat off the
expected cruiser. In Port Darwin the volunteers were busily engaged in
practising at targets. Similar amusements were going on at Thursday
Island and in Townsville. At some towns places had been looked for to
which bank treasure might be removed.
Now, however, every town, from the snowy uplands of Southern New
Zealand to the sandy shores of tropical Queensland, has completed its
preparations. At many harbours it would be an unfortunate thing if a
belligerent found his way inside. He would most certainly never go
out. The war scare has done good. It has placed the Colonies on a war
footing.