on a steamer where some of these gentlemen desirous of advertising
their principles have not been present. Further, it has but rarely
happened that they have not opened an argument about their views to a
fellow-passenger, who in many cases was perhaps a better exponent of
their doctrines than they themselves. To declare your principles may
be heroic, but it is only the vulgar who make themselves objectionable
when making their declarations. Nearly every Blue Ribbonite I met with
was decidedly vulgar, and, like the Salvationists, bold but ignorant.
When these middle lower classes of Australia are educated, there may
be fewer examples of these primitive kinds of worship. The same may be
said for other countries.
Notwithstanding all the religious parades which continually bumped
against me, I observed that vices were about the same as in other
countries. There was the usual gambling to be seen on steamers and in
hotels, the usual betting and bookmaking, the usual drinking, the usual
games at euchre, and, in short, the usual everything.
The traffic-manager of every railway tries to stop smoking, or at least
to surround smoking with so many discomforts that it will stop itself.
In New South Wales, for instance, you read at every station, “Any
person found smoking on the railway premises is liable to a fine of
£2.” Still you get a smoking-carriage. To call it a truck or van might
be better.
On the suburban lines of Melbourne, between the hours of four and eight
in the afternoon, you get a sort of smoking-box to sit in. It almost
seems to have been intentional to make the smoking accommodation as
filthy as possible. Nowhere in the world--and I have been round it and
round it in many directions--did I ever meet with smoking-carriages
in such a very dirty condition as those near Melbourne. If you got in
quickly, you might possibly get a seat. If you were late, you had to
stand in the middle of the van (for the conveyances are more like vans
with seats round them than carriages). There is a mat, which I always
saw in a state of sop: this was produced by saliva. To drop a parcel
would be to leave it, for it would be too soiled to pick up.
If people are crammed together like pigs, a place has a tendency to
become like a pigstye. Why Victorians are content with the smoking
accommodation provided by the suburban lines at Melbourne is a mystery.
From Newcastle I made a trip to one of the coal-mines, distant perhaps
ten miles. Part of the journey was accomplished on the ordinary
railroad; the remainder of the journey, on a private line, was made in
a locomotive kindly put at my disposal by the proprietors of one of the
mines.
On the Newcastle line I was particularly struck by a large printed
notice at the bookstall, which ran as follows: “Persons _not_ requiring
books at the stall are requested to leave the same alone.” This was in
large type, and the _not_ was underlined. Directions for the guidance
of the public so courteous as this are worthy of record.
My companions in the railway-carriage are also worthy of a note. To
see one lady that is stout and plain is not an unusual occurrence; but
on the memorable day of July 30, 1885, I had no less than ten stout
ladies to admire. Each of them looked cross, and, from the way in which
they glared at me, they were evidently strong-minded. Perhaps I was in
the compartment reserved for ladies; but as the train was in motion
before this dawned upon me, my mistake could not be rectified until I
reached the end of my journey. Once or twice I glanced upwards, just
to see a battery of flashing eyes, a circle of fat red faces, and
bale-like heaps of lace and spangles, each of which extended over the
area usually occupied by two people. While breathing a close atmosphere
of rich perfumery, I made the calculation that as the most fairy-like
of my companions weighed at least 200 lb., the whole ten of them must
have reached the enormous weight of 2000 lb., or nearly a ton. Fancy
being cooped up with a whole ton of female beauty, each unit of the
whole having a strong intellect, and being at the same time fearfully
muscular. I often wondered whether they were on their way to some show.
They looked domestic, and, assuming they were blessed with spouses, the
spouses must have felt blessed too. From these remarks I do not wish
it to be supposed that all Australian ladies are like the remarkable
ten into whose company I unintentionally had forced myself. Australian
ladies are as pretty and as enchanting as the ladies in other parts of
the globe. Abnormalities occur in every country. I only remember seeing
one other stout lady. She was jolly and agreeable, as stout people
usually are. I travelled with her for perhaps two hundred miles. By the
time the first hundred were over we were quite confidential. She was
going to see Parker. Parker was her husband. Her name was Cleopatra,
but her husband called her Cloppy for short. “When I left Parker three
years ago,” said Cloppy, “I was slim as a lath.” At the end of the
journey Parker was standing on the platform. He must have looked at
Cloppy for at least two minutes before he opened his mouth. When he did
open it, he smiled, then he grinned, until finally he couldn’t contain
himself for laughing. We had to pat him on the back. “Why, Cloppy,” he
said, and then he was off in convulsions again; “I hardly knew you. You
are fat!” and he was off again in tears. “Well,” replied Cloppy, who
was commencing to look a little bothered, “if I’d thought you was going
to make a fool of yourself in this way, I’d never have come. There
now, come along;” and she led Parker away with his sides shaking.
There are big men as well as big ladies in Australia. The tall men you
see about the streets and in the hotels they are often quite noticeable.
The coal-mines well repaid the visit. I was shown every courtesy that
could be desired. There was no particular reason why I should have been
shown any courtesy whatever. I visited the coke-ovens and works above
ground, and afterwards walked some miles underground, where everything
that was remarkable was carefully described. On the surface I was
particularly struck with the size of a coal-box. Ordinary coal-boxes
are portable; this coal-box had been made too large to admit of
removal. It held, I was told, upwards of 3,000 tons of coal. If they
had told me that it would have held half the coal in the universe I
should have unhesitatingly accepted the statement, and noted it down as
a fact to be publicly recorded. This box was built of wood. It stood
on legs, so that locomotives and whole trains could run underneath it.
Beneath this particular coal-box--for at other mines there are also
coal-boxes--there were three lines of rails, so that three long trains
could seek the shelter of its wings. These wings were sliding doors.
Open the doors, when, presto! the trucks beneath were full, and three
great trains could start away laden with a cargo of black diamonds
sufficient to supply the British fleet. Unfortunately, the British
fleet never came to be supplied. Newcastle folks have had a mania for
coal loading. At Newcastle itself they have a wonderful arrangement
of hydraulic cranes, which lift whole trucks, much as we would lift
a spoonful of soup, and then tip it into any portion of a ship where
the coals are wanted. In many cases I believe that the supply comes
in more quickly than those in the ship can get it trimmed. It is a
wonderful fact, but skippers say it is a fact, that, in consequence of
this, the coolies of China and the boys and girls of Japan can load
an ocean-going steamer as fast with coals as it can be done with the
hydraulic cranes of Newcastle. At Nagasaki I have been told that the
passing in and passing out of a cargo is a sight to be remembered.
Women or boys stand shoulder to shoulder up the gangways from the
lighter to the steamers. The baskets of coal fly along from hand to
hand, and so rapidly, that no individual ever carries any weight; all
that he does is to give the flying parcel an additional quantity of
momentum. The empty baskets pass back in a similar manner. The general
effect is that of a huge circle of revolving baskets. All this is
accompanied by parrot-like chattering and giggling. The Easterns are a
happy lot. When they have finished coaling they wash themselves.
Underground I was shown where a great fire had occurred. In places the
coal was burnt to a cinder. As you receded you passed places where it
was only coked. The shales that accompany the coal had been baked to
a state of brick or porcelain. This fire had been put out by flooding
the mine with water. This was accomplished by making a huge syphon
out of a 6-inch pipe, and conducting water from a creek which, at the
time of the fire, very luckily happened to be in a state of flood. The
seam I saw was six feet thick. In places it was a bituminous coal;
in other parts it had a stony look--this was splint coal. On one
occasion this splint coal had been returned, the buyers thinking it was
shale. As a matter of fact, it was a better coal than the bituminous
variety. Buyers often grumble about it. One thing of interest was a
contrivance for automatically greasing the wheels of the coal-trucks.
Another striking arrangement was a bar of iron called a “bull,” which
was to stop a truck from running away, supposing it got free when on an
incline.
* * * * *
Sydney was the next great city which I visited. There is a daily, or
rather nightly, steamer communication between Newcastle and Sydney.
Before long there will be a railway connection, when the steamers
will have to lower their prices, or to seek their freights in other
ports. It was night when I left Newcastle. On my way to the wharf I
asked a young man the way to the boat for Sydney. His reply could not
even be put in Latin. In all countries which are leading factors in
the world’s advancement, we find the over-civilized, the civilized,
the semi-civilized. The gentleman to whom I spoke on the Newcastle
wharf might out of courtesy be admitted to the last class. I suppose
he belonged to that particular division of the human species known
in Australia as the larrikin, in ’Frisco as the corner boy, and in
London as the loafer. Sydney and Melbourne are the headquarters of
the larrikin. They may, if it is an honour, claim the invention of
this excrescence in Australian civilization. By some, the larrikin
is regarded as a type of humanity which owes its peculiarity to a
redundance of animal spirits. It includes shop-boys and young workmen,
who shriek after couples in the act of spooning: “Heh! why don’t
you marry the girl! I’ll tell your mother what you’ve done!” Young
gentlemen who are impertinent and cheeky. Young men who are given to
larks and larking. Thus their name. The larrikins I have seen have
certainly the above qualification; but, in addition, not only do they
make themselves conspicuous by their wits, but they live by them.
During the day they are apparently idle. They stand at corners, where
they smoke. The better class of them, or rather those whose “wits” are
above the average, adopt black suits, velvet collars, and high-heeled
boots. You see the larrikin in numbers on piers, especially on the
arrival of a steamer. I say they live on their wits, because, like the
policemen, I really do not know how they do live. “Go down Clarence
Street at night with some money, and you will find out,” said a friend
of mine. What he meant I do not know.
The larrikins are the town loafers of Australia. The country loafers
are called sundowners. These are gentlemen who travel with their swag
on their backs, and so arrange their movements that if possible they
reach a station at sundown. Here they take advantage of the hospitality
accorded to strangers, and practically demand shelter and food. To
refuse them might be dangerous, for after their departure fences might
be destroyed, fires might break out, or other little troubles might
occur which would be objectionable and dangerous. The sundowner is a
black mailer, and many of the squatters find his demands a serious
item in their expenses.
An old gentleman whom we suspected as being a sundowner visited our
ship while it was lying at the wharf in Newcastle. He was a tall old
man with a long grey beard. His tattered clothes, his staff, and the
bundle on his back, made him so much like the pictures of Rip Van
Winkle that he attracted general attention. His worn shoes and dusty
appearance indicated that he had travelled many miles. He told Captain
Green, who did the interviewing, that he had walked across the Blue
Mountains from Sydney to Brisbane, and was in search of work. He was an
engineer, but wherever he went, there was always the same answer,--‘Old
men are not employed.’ As he was evidently a man who had interesting
experiences to relate, our Captain asked him on board. His foot was no
sooner on the deck than he saw a Chinaman. “What!” exclaimed the old
man, “you carry wretches like that,--heathens who have robbed me of
honest employment,” and he seemed inclined to leave the ship. A little
persuasion, however, brought him into the cabin, and when a heathen had
given him a steak and a bottle of porter, his bitterness subsided.
It turned out that he had been educated at Bath, and when he heard that
the captain had been in Bath, the old man’s eyes almost filled with
tears. ‘You must know the old church, then?’ ‘Yes, yes; I shall never
forget an inscription on one of the gravestones I read there; forty
years ago now:
‘“Life is but a maze of crooked streets,
Death is the market-place where each man meets;
If life were merchandise which men could buy,
None but the rich would live, and only poor would die.”’
Had our captain been able to keep the old gentleman on board, his
quotations, relating of incidents, and above all his mannerism, would
have formed materials for an interesting biography.
Now for Sydney. I must say that when I had passed the barrier of
larrikins, and reached one of the main streets, I was greatly
astonished. The bustle, the omnibuses, the cabs, the people, and the
general business-like flow of vehicles and people, reminded me of a
street in the little village on the Thames. The first hotel I tried
was the Royal. A notice in the smoking-room, which, by-the-bye, could
only be reached by verandas and windows, to the effect that “Any person
leaving cigar ash or ends about the room will be prosecuted as the law
directs,” etc., etc., quite frightened me. Jokes like these are so near
reality in the Colonies, that they ought not to be practised.
Everywhere you tumble on notices and articles inveighing against
smoking, swearing, and other vices, so that a stranger gets nervous,
lest by accident he should be caught tripping. I left that hotel, and
shortly afterwards found myself located at another hostelry, situated
on a hill in the midst of churches. Oh, those sweet church bells! Those
evening chimes. Think of the thousands of sleepless nights you have
caused. An organ-grinder may be ordered to move on by law. Why are you
exempt? You jangle, jangle, jangle, all in discord and without meaning.
I spent some days in Sydney, and all day and every day I walked and
rode about in all directions. One day I strolled through the Botanical
Gardens, enjoying glimpses of Sydney’s beautiful harbour. ‘Oh, have
you seen our harbour?’ is a question addressed to every stranger.
How a stranger who visits Sydney is to avoid seeing the harbour is a
great puzzle. Whichever way you walk you must come to the harbour--its
ramifications extend in all directions. Although it has only one
entrance, and is seldom more than a mile in breadth, often being much
less, it is said to measure round its shore line more than seventeen
hundred miles. Sydney people and Australians, when abroad, are for ever
doing all they can to create a prejudice against this beautiful corner
of creation. Morning, noon, and night the changes that are rung upon
the words, Sydney Harbour and beautiful, at last become as wearying as
the bells. Still, the harbour is beautiful. I went up the Paramatta to
see it.
As you steam along the smooth waters, and gaze at vista after vista
of islands, river-like expanses and rocky promontories, you might
fancy yourself at rest, while acres upon acres of panoramic views were
slowly drifting past you. All you require to complete the illusion
is slow music, and on fête days I presume such a want is supplied in
plenty. The rocks are yellowish-grey sandstone. As you get away from
the town, which looks more like a gigantic watering-place than a city
for business, the hills, instead of being capped with houses, are
capped with scrub. Whales and other marine monsters which have entered
Sydney Roads, must be quite bewildered by the twists and turns they are
compelled to take. Probably many of them get lost. As we progress up
the harbour, we see villas and cottages built on cliff-like slopes or
islands. Many of these have gardens, which of necessity are filled with
mounds and huge rocks. The Britisher residing on the shores of Sydney
Harbour is compelled by nature to have a garden that is picturesque.
His squares, and circles, and complications of geometrical figures,
cut in dirt and marked out with bright flowers or tiles, in which
his mechanical, unartistic soul delights, are here an impossibility.
Here he must content himself with figures and effects carved out by
nature--his own artificial regularities being an impossibility.
Where the harbour was narrow it was spanned by iron bridges. Those
which I saw were perhaps half a mile in length, and of the Warren
girder type. They carry an ordinary roadway. They might carry a double
line of rails.
A young Chinaman who had been studying engineering in Europe was on
board. He told me that he thought iron was cheap when these bridges
were built. It might be cheap to pull them down, and then put up double
the number of bridges with the same material. Of course the heathen
student was wrong. I told him that each bridge should be strengthened,
and should then be restricted to the use of foot passengers.
Another trip that I made was out to Coogee. This was in a steam-tram.
Steam-trams are a great feature in Sydney. They run through the heart
of the town. They consist of a locomotive and two or three carriages.
To send an ordinary train steaming, chuffing, smoking, snorting, firing
off ashes, steam, and dirty water through thickly populated streets,
is more than many towns would tolerate. Sydneyites, however, send
something more than all this through their town--not every hour, but
in places two or three times every five minutes. They send carriages
behind their locomotives as tall as ordinary houses. ‘Great goodness,
what’s that?’ said the major, when he first saw the steam-tram. ‘The
cathedral has escaped----no, it’s a row of houses got loose.’ It was
some time before we ventured on board one of these moving buildings. We
took an outside place, climbing up a ladder to what might correspond
to the tiles of an ordinary two-storied dwelling. One striking notice
was: “It is dangerous to sit on the rails.” We all laughed. We would
as soon think of sitting on the rails used by a Sydney tram as sitting
on the rails of an ordinary railroad. “Directors joking,” said Peter.
“Why, they mean these things,” said Dodd, pointing to some thin rails
corresponding to the tin water gutter on the edge of a roof.
Another prominent notice seen in nearly all the Australian towns
is, “Walk over crossing.” This is usually pendent on a lamp-post.
“Walk over crossing,” said I to myself. “They want us to be killed,
I suppose. I shall run over crossings, if necessity requires it.”
Afterwards I learnt it was a notice to the drivers of chariots.
As we went along we had splendid views into bedrooms, bath-rooms,
store-rooms, top garrets, and generally the upper quarters of the
houses which lined a street. Now and then a hand would suddenly snap
down a blind. This was probably some lady who objected to our seeing
her doing up her hair. Another kind of fun was to watch the private
horses jump. They don’t understand a row of houses tearing along the
street. Coming back, Peter made the major a bet that we should see at
least ten horses not educated up to steam-trams. Peter won. If I lived
in Sydney I should take a season ticket on the steam-trams. Perhaps I
might hire a tram of my own.
Coogee was lovely. In fact, all the country round about Sydney seems
to be lovely. Hill and dale in all directions. A lot of the ground is
sandy. It is covered with bushes and tufts of grass, and in general
appearance is like moorland. On our way out we first saw a big thing
like Cleopatra’s Needle put up in honour of George Thornton, a former
Mayor of Sydney. There are plenty of needles, statues and arrangements
to commemorate great people about Sydney. Those who wish to have
a chance of earthly immortality, let them try to live and die in
Sydney,--only don’t let the candidates for effigies, and other eulogies
in stone, be too numerous. Next we saw the University. We paid a visit
to this place, and were shown a remarkably fine hall--perhaps the best
hall out of Oxford. I am of course talking about halls belonging to
English folks. Then there was a book, “My Journal in the Highlands,”
bound in blue, and put on a monument under a glass case. How many
of these works our gracious Majesty has been pleased to present to
institutions and people in the Colonies I cannot say. I should guess a
good-sized ship-load.
After this there was the race-course and the Zoo. At the Zoo we saw the
usual elephant busily engaged in carrying round a load of children.
There were also some very tame kangaroos. A great feature in Sydney,
as in other Australian towns, are the cabs and carriages. In Sydney
they are hansoms--in Melbourne they are cumbersome things like covered
waggonettes. The most peculiar point connected with these conveyances
is the system on which you are expected to pay for them. It took me a
long time to discover what the system was, and it is more than likely
that what I discovered only applies to visitors. After trying a number
of chariots in various parts of the Colonies, it appears to me that
if you pay one shilling for the first quarter of an hour, you pay
two shillings for the second quarter, four shillings for the third
quarter, and so on at a geometrically increasing rate. If you were to
engage a cab for four hours your bill ought, at the above rate, to
be £1,766 18s. 0d. I was, however, informed on good authority, that,
with a little persuasion, the drivers might compromise with you for
about ten bob. If a man took a cab for the whole day, say of twelve
hours his bill would reach in round numbers the magnificent sum of
one hundred and forty millions of millions of pounds, or in figures
£140,000,000,000,000! A distinguished calculator was employed to make
this estimate, and it may be relied on. I have omitted a few trillions
of pounds some odd shillings and pence in this account, as too much
detail leads to confusion. Is not this a revenue towards which the
Government of New South Wales ought to direct its attention? They
require a loan, why not ask the cabmen? It is true that not many men
survive such an account. The man who had engaged the luxury of a cab
for a day, was, I heard, serving his time in the debtor’s gaol, and as
it would be some time before he had picked sufficient oakum to pay his
score, I was unable to make the acquaintance of this colossal bankrupt.