from us, Captain Stringer had started a bottling establishment on
the lower part of the Yarra. He must have a wharf for the purpose
of loading steamers. He would have had the establishment at Jogga
Wogga itself, but he showed it was cheaper to send the waters down in
casks rather than to send bottles up to Jogga Wogga, and then cart
them back again. Of course he issued cards, circulars, prospectuses,
put advertisements in all the newspapers, and did what was necessary
and proper to bring the Jogga Wogga waters to the notice of the
health-seeking public. One of his circulars contained testimonials from
bishops and doctors who had known Stringer before his illness. These
were backed by letters and articles from various newspapers.
The waters he sold were of three kinds. No. 1 was described as slightly
acid, containing a fine precipitate of yellow flocculent sulphur,
and a small percentage of sulphuretted hydrogen. It was strongly
recommended in all cases of skin disease, and to patients who were
dyspeptic or suffering from an attack of bile. For locomotor ataxy it
was infallible, and failing appetites were speedily cured. Acidity,
giddiness, headache, drowsiness, and spasms of all descriptions might
readily be cured by a hot bath made from these waters. Small bottles,
2s. 6d. Large bottles for family use, containing one imperial quart, 5s.
No. 2 was described as an alkaline water, which rendered the cuticle
so soft and pliable that it might be called the beautifier. For gout,
rheumatic arthritis, forms of myalgia like lumbago, chronic rheumatism,
relaxation of anchylosed joints and psoriasis, it was unequalled. Short
dry coughs, singing in the ears, vitiated tastes, might be removed by
taking a dose of this water three times a day. Price 3s. a pint. A
large bottle for family use, containing an imperial quart, 7s. 6d.
No. 3 was described as somewhat saline, exceedingly beneficial when
applied either externally or internally. As an alterative in tubercular
diseases and in cases of nervous affections, it was unequalled. It
was particularly recommended to residents in the East, and to all who
indulge in the luxuries of the table; a wineglassful taken after every
meal would arrest the progress of the most virulent disease. Price 10s.
per small bottle. A large bottle suitable for family uses, containing
an imperial quart, one guinea.
In the colonies the sale was enormous; in fact, the orders poured in
so rapidly, that Stringer said he was obliged to decline orders from
people living near him. He would supply them later on. In a few months
orders were received from abroad, and great steamers sailed from Port
Phillip loaded with cases of the Jogga Wogga waters. Now and then
barge-loads of barrels would be seen toiling up the Yarra on their way
towards the Jogga Wogga springs.
For two years the trade had so increased, that poor old Stringer, as
we used to call him, was in a fair way to become a millionaire. About
this time, however, it began to be whispered about that there was some
sort of trickery going on at Stringer’s establishment; the waters were
not of the same quality as at first. One man wrote to the papers,
saying that the Jogga Wogga waters, instead of curing him, had made him
vomit to such at extent that he had to remain in bed for a week. One
or two others addressed letters to the bishops and doctors, to know if
their testimonials about the Jogga Wogga waters were genuine. Of course
they replied that as the Jogga Wogga waters had cured Captain Stringer
of rheumatism, low fever, and lunacy, they must be good. While all this
was going on, old Stringer was raking in the pounds hand over hand.
A crusher appeared at last. A gentleman, who signed himself John
Burdett, M.D., said that as three of his patients who had been in the
habit of taking the Jogga Wogga stimulant had suddenly died, while
many others had been seriously ill, he had been led to make a close
examination of these celebrated waters.
Although he had made numerous inquiries respecting the Jogga Wogga
springs, he had failed to discover their existence. In fact, he was of
opinion that Jogga Wogga had no existence. After careful analyses of
the waters, he concluded that the quantity of organic matter which the
so-called Jogga Wogga water contained, rendered it highly improbable
that it was not of subterranean origin.
The general character of the water was not unlike that of some slowly
flowing, muddy stream.
No. 1 Jogga Wogga water, described as slightly acidic and containing
a fine precipitate of sulphur and a small percentage of sulphuretted
hydrogen, was strikingly similar to the water in the Yarra, at the
point below the bridge where the waters from the gas-works mix with
those of the adjoining tannery.
No. 2 Jogga Wogga water, described as an alkaline solution which
rendered the cuticle soft and pliable, was identical with water
taken from the Yarra below the tallow factory, or near to the second
soap-boilers.
No. 3 Jogga Wogga water, described as saline, Dr. Burdett said he was
uncertain about. It might be from certain parts of the Yarra, or it
might be from the tide-way opposite Captain Stringer’s wharf.
In conclusion, he publicly challenged Captain Stringer to indicate the
position of the Jogga Wogga springs, offering to pay £1,000 if such
springs could be proved to have an existence.
The reply to the attack appeared next morning. It was dated
‘Melbourne Heads, S. S. _Hooker._
‘My dear Dr. Burdett,
‘You are quite right, and as you have discovered the true
source of the Jogga Wogga waters, you are perfectly free to
carry on my business during my absence in America. I may not
return for some time.
‘Yours affectionately,
‘Captain Stringer.’
We returned to Melbourne by rail. For some distance after leaving
Ballarat the country was hilly, but after that it was flat--dead flat.
It looked like a placid green ocean. Once it had perhaps been a fiery
ocean of lava, which, by the processes of time, had been smoothed over
to an even surface. Crossing the plains, you saw long lines of wire
fencing getting lower and lower until they vanished as a black line
in the direction of the horizon. What opportunities to study space
of two dimensions! What cricket grounds! All the teams in the world
might play upon these plains and not one would know of the existence
of his neighbours. I suppose the flatness of Australia has had much
to do with their success at cricket. Every boy could play. An exactly
similar argument will apply to their success at rowing. The numerous
and magnificent rivers which traverse the Australian continent in all
directions--no, that’s wrong. They have no rivers. They took to rowing
out of perversity.
_TASMANIA._
I made two trips to Tasmania, one of them being from Melbourne to
Hobart. On one of these trips the sea was as smooth as glass, and
looking in the water you could see the reflection of trees and islets
as if looking in a mirror. On another trip, however, it was so rough
that all passengers had to be kept below, and a fourteen-knot boat,
when it did not go backwards, seldom made more than four knots. So much
for the moods in which you may find Bass Straits. When Bass Straits are
amiable, the time taken from Melbourne to Launceston is usually about
twenty-four hours. You commence the journey by going down the tortuous
muddy Yarra. As I have before remarked, there are some people who say
that this river smells. The only things of particular interest which I
remember passing were two steamers which had just arrived with tea from
China. Both of them had seen bad weather, especially one called the
_Airlie_, which had lost her boats and all her live-stock. When we saw
her she looked pretty much like a ship that had been through a naval
engagement. A fellow-passenger told a friend of mine that these ships
carried Chinamen as sailors. The captain and the officers dressed in
white--white coat, white pants, white hats and white shoes. They talked
Chinese. He had heard them saying ‘Chop chop.’ That’s Chinese for
‘Hurry up,’ you know.
At the entrance to Port Phillip, into which the Yarra empties itself,
there are fortifications and a lighthouse. Until quite recently, on
account of the fear of Russians, these lights were extinguished. When
we returned from Launceston in a little boat called the _Pateena_, we
had to heave to at this point, until we had satisfied the officers of a
steam-launch that we were not Russians in disguise.
Amongst our passengers there were, as usual, one or two celebrities.
There were illiterate millionaires travelling for business, and young
Oxonian millionaires travelling for pleasure. One man was pointed
out to me as being worth from £150 to £200 per day; another man was a
bagman carrying samples of the _Airlie’s_ tea. The most remarkable man
with whom I conversed was the heaviest man in the colonies. His name is
Jennings, he is a native of Tasmania, weighs thirty-three stone, and
belongs to a group of stout Tasmanians known as ‘Our Boys.’ He had been
on a trip to Victoria and New South Wales, and being a distinguished
personage, had been presented with ‘free passes’ for the colonial
railways. In other countries he would have paid double. Not being able
to go in an ordinary cabin, he had engaged the ladies’ saloon, where
he had a bed made up on the floor; when once in bed he told me that he
could not turn over, and ‘these ship stewards don’t understand me, you
know,’ he remarked.
After dinner I spent some time in the smoking-room, where a young
gentleman, who was completing his education by voyaging round the
world, entertained an audience by accounts of his own adventures and
the idiosyncrasies of his friends.
In the Red Sea he and his companions had nearly succumbed to the
intense heat. The perspiration ran from them until they both got wet,
and pools of water formed by the drippings from their chins. _The
playing cards were actually sticky._ ‘I brought five guns with me,’
said the young gentleman, ‘and in India I shot seven elephants in one
day.’ ‘Seventeen,’ he means, whispered my neighbour, who gave me a
nudge. After this we were entertained by a long story about one of the
young gentleman’s friends, whom he described as being ‘awfully hard.’
‘You couldn’t knock “the hard” out of him. He was the hardest fellow
he ever knew. Somehow or other he was always down on his luck. Once he
was lost in the bush for five days. When he got back to his station,
all his cattle had died. Then he went to sea for five years, going
round the world ten times. This set him up with money to start another
station. The cattle again died.’ ‘Did he go to sea for five years
more?’ I asked. ‘Oh no, he didn’t go to sea again; he used to make
wagers with fellows that he would drink a cask of beer and nibble up
the staves of wood as he went on. They weren’t large casks, you know.
His great aunt died the other day and left him £60,000 a year. He was
awfully hard, don’tchyerknow.’
Another gentleman, who had a long tawny moustache, told us that he
knew Tasmania better than any other man. He said that he had been
collecting notes for the last twenty-five years for a book he was
writing on Tasmania, and the style in which he wrote was like that of
Artemus Ward.
About this time, there being a change in the amplitude and period of
the ship’s movements, I decided on bed. I was glad that I had done
this, as I afterwards found my health was not altogether reliable.
Early next morning we were steaming up the waters of the lovely Tamar.
The river is fully a mile in width, and is bounded with big bays,
clumps of trees, and hills on either side. The reflections in the water
were so clear, that a photograph of what we saw must have been a double
picture. Here and there along the hills there were lines of clouds,
while at the extremities of the bays there were banks of mist. It is
partly owing to these misty Scotch mornings, which kill off the weakly
ones, that the British race exists. I was told by one passenger that
the trees were red gums, blue gums, and wattles. A second passenger
said they were blue gums, red gums, and wattles. A third said they were
wattles, red gums, and blue gums. I gradually learnt how many names I
required on which to ring the changes when describing the Tasmanian
flora.
Launceston, which is forty miles up this river, is a clean, quiet, nice
little town. From a distance you see several spires of churches, some
tall chimneys belonging to the tin-smelting works, some saw mills,
and a lot of houses, the whole being surrounded by high hills. On one
side of the town is the river Esk, flowing down a rocky gorge from
the Cora Linn. I went to see this, and was very much struck with the
picturesqueness of the wild and rocky canon-like gorge through which
the river flows.
The streets of the town are wide, and contain many good shops.
Victorians call Tasmania ‘sleepy hollow.’ I cannot say that Launceston
was particularly sleepy in its appearance. It was certainly quiet, but
in the leading streets there was always a comfortable amount of traffic
visible.
During the last two years Launceston and northern Tasmania have
been much disturbed with small earthquakes. Many of these have been
sufficient to produce slight cracks in walls, and to disturb stone
ornaments on the parapets of buildings. One small minaret, like a spire
on a church tower, had been partly twisted round. The origin of these
disturbances is supposed to be near the eastern entrance to Bass Strait.
Johnson’s Boy.
I suffered from toothache when I was in Launceston, and was in
consequence led to make inquiries about dentistry. ‘Speaking of teeth,’
said a gentleman at the club, ‘we have a dentist in this town who will
whip spots out of all the tooth carpenters in creation. He came here
about two years ago, and set up as a locksmith and general mechanic.
Everybody said he was pretty clever, but somehow or other he didn’t
succeed as he ought to have done. The only work he could get when he
first came was to mend sewing machines, and now and then a bicycle. But
it is an ill wind that blows no one any luck. Fergusson, the manager of
the Bank of Van Diemen’s Land (that’s a name we hate, you know), was
taking a walk one afternoon near the beach, when he suddenly found a
sack over his head, and, before he could turn round or shout for help,
he was tied to a tree and gagged. The ruffians then took his keys, went
down to the bank, and helped themselves. Of course there was a lot
of talk about the affair, and the newspapers said that bank-managers
who had only one key to their safes ought to be held responsible for
any loss which might occur. The result of all this was that Johnson
got the job of altering a lot of safes, so that they could only be
opened by two keys. Next he got railway work. After this he started
electric bells. The electrical business--which he does very well,
mind ye, and, if you want electrical bells, you can’t do better than
go to Johnson--seems to have started him off in a new line. You have
heard, no doubt, of Pulvermacher’s electrical belts, which are made
of bits of magnets wrapped up in flannel. They say it’s the magnetism
that works the cure, but I think it’s the flannel. Johnson had an idea
that electricity was the thing, and if you could get from time to time
a gentle current passed through your system it might be exceedingly
beneficial. That electrical currents work cures for rheumatism and
other diseases is demonstrated every day in hospitals throughout the
world. The problem which Johnson set himself was how to get a current
passed through a man without using a machine or a battery--the man must
make his own current. At every meal a man took in a certain quantity of
food which, like fuel, gives out heat. Instead of converting the whole
of the food into tissue and heat, Johnson wanted to convert a bit of it
into electricity; and he solved the problem splendidly.’
‘And how did he do it?’ I inquired.
‘Well, when a man takes his food, there is always a certain amount of
salt and acid in his mouth, you know. Now Johnson thought that if a man
had his upper row of teeth made of copper, and the lower ones made of
zinc, a regular battery might be established.’
‘And has he ever tried it?’ I asked.
‘Tried it indeed! He’s tried it in all shapes you could think about,
and, what is more, he has taken a patent out for the arrangement. In a
prospectus he issued, he called it “The New Dentistry, the Curer of all
Diseases and the Improver of the Mind.” Battery teeth were guaranteed
to strengthen the whole muscular system, restore long-lost complexions,
cure headaches, and to rouse into activity the whole physical action
of the human frame. He began with his shop-boy. First he stopped some
holes in his uppers with copper, and then corresponding holes, which
he bored in the lowers, with zinc. The boy was originally one of those
stupid fat-faced youths, without a sequence of ideas in his head.
After the new stopping was in, it was generally remarked that he had
suddenly become intelligent. As this was so successful, Johnson next
experimented by respectively replacing two of his uppers and two of his
lowers with zinc and copper. The effect was astounding. Every time the
boy closed his mouth and made contact, his countenance would light up
with a preternatural glow of intelligence, and he would look at you as
if he was reading your inmost thoughts. When he opened his mouth, of
course the contact was broken, and the expression of wisdom would be
suddenly replaced by the old look of stupidity.
‘Lots of us used to go round to see Johnson’s boy make and break
contact, or, as he called it, turning on the intellect.
‘One thing which was very remarkable, was the boy’s behaviour when,
after lying all night with his mouth shut and the current running, he
first got up in the morning. He seemed to be so full of spirits, that
until he had had a run round the town with his mouth open there was no
restraining him. Johnson was delighted, and to determine the limits
to which the experiment might be carried, he pulled out all the boy’s
teeth, and set him up with his copper and zinc arrangement.
‘The results were more remarkable than ever. Day by day the boy’s
brains got bigger and bigger, until at last his intellect became
perfectly gigantic. When the current was on, one great hobby he took to
was to write poetry, for all of which Johnson secured the copyright.
At times, when he had his teeth arranged in series, the current was
so intense that Johnson was afraid to let him sleep, unless he had a
wooden plug in his mouth just to keep the circuit open.
‘Johnson, however, lost him at last. One night he and the boy were
having pickled salmon for supper (one of those salmon which have
thriven so well in the rivers, you know), when all of a sudden the boy
jumped up with a yell and bolted out of the door. Johnson was after
him, but it was no use--off he went along the road towards Hobart. Some
people who saw him said that his eyes were lighted up like two electric
lamps, and sparks were flying out all over him. Several search-parties
went out to look for him, but without success. In the inquiry which
followed his disappearance, it turned out that Johnson had forgotten
to put his teeth into parallel circuit, which, as he admitted, was the
only way in which persons with metallic teeth ought to sit down to
pickled salmon.’
‘And has there never been any trace of him discovered?’ I asked.
‘Well, there has been no decided trace, but a fellow who read a paper
the other evening at the Mechanics, attributed the electrical state of
our atmosphere to the proximity of Johnson’s boy; and one man who spoke
said that he might be the cause of the red sunsets we have been having.
When folks don’t understand a thing properly they always put it down to
electricity. You ought to go round to Johnson and get him to put some
of his patent stopping into your teeth. It’ll cure the toothache, and
give you an imagination. My teeth were stopped by Johnson.’
I inquired about Johnson, and from what I heard he was a remarkable
man. I, however, should rather recommend him as a mechanist than as a
dentist.
* * * * *
Now for a few facts I cribbed out of a book. Tasmania was discovered
in 1642, by Van Tasman. At first it was called Van Diemen’s Land. It
fell into the possession of the English in 1803, and for many years was
used as a station for convicts. For the next twenty years it appears to
have been governed by military orders. There is a remarkable novel on
convict life in Tasmania, called ‘For the Term of His Natural Life,’
by Marcus Clarke. Those who wish to know how brutal and tyrannical
Englishmen may have been, cannot do better than read Clarke’s depiction
of early times near Hobart. I do not suppose that all that is related
in this book is absolutely true, but from documents which I had shown
to me when in Tasmania, from what I heard, and from the testimony of
official records to which Marcus Clarke refers, it would appear that
many of the incidents referred to are by no means pure invention. To
many ladies, and to those who are easily affected by the descriptions
of the trials and misery of others, I would say, Do not read ‘His
Natural Life.’
For many years the aborigines gave considerable trouble to the
settlers. The last of them died in 1876. In early times many of them
were shot, but after they had been subjugated, they rapidly died
off whilst undergoing the process of civilization. Tasmania is a
hilly country, having several mountains over 4,000 feet in height,
and one, Ben Lomond, is 5,000 feet. Between the mountains there are
many picturesque lakes, and round the coast there are several large
harbours, some of which, like Hobart, are not only commodious, but
extremely beautiful. The climate is on the whole mild. In the mountains
it is cold in winter, but the mildness of the summer attracts many
visitors from Victoria.
In the woods there are a number of animals, which are chiefly
marsupial. Amongst them are the kangaroo, wallaby, native devil,
wombat, platypus, the opossum, etc. There are also a number of snakes
and lizards. The flora, like the fauna, is very similar to that of
Victoria.
The animal on which Tasmanians pride themselves is the duck-billed
mole, more commonly known as the ornithorhynchus or platypus. This
is a fierce little animal about twelve inches long. Its body is like
a mole, while its head is like that of a duck. A very good picture
of this interesting creature may be seen on some of the Tasmanian
postage stamps. Not long ago it was discovered that this extraordinary
combination of bird and mammal laid eggs. Their nests are usually
situated in the topmost branches of the highest trees. The eggs, when
boiled hard, are said to be delicious, whilst the animal itself,
when stuffed with sage and roasted, is fit to place before Lucullus.
The plural of platypus is platypuses, platypi, or platypodes. This
interesting little animal is also found on the adjoining continent.
The Smelting Works.
While at Launceston I spent an evening visiting the Smelting Works.
The tin-ore which is treated at these works comes from Mount Bischoff,
one of the largest and most famous tin mines in the world. The
process of smelting is apparently very simple. The ore is mixed with
about one-fifth its weight of powdered coal, and then put into a
reverberatory furnace for about eight hours. To purify the tin after
it is drawn off from this furnace it is kept liquid in a large iron
caldron, fixed at the bottom of which there is a piece of green wood.
The green wood, as it is charred in the bath of molten tin, gives
off gas which rises in bubbles to the surface of the metal. This gas
oxidizes the impurities, which float up as a scum that can be easily
removed. After this the tin is cast into brick-like blocks, which are
carefully stored until the price of tin has risen sufficiently high to
yield a profit to those who own the works.